Leaving Texas in l985 was heartbreaking for me. Gone forever were the What-A-Burgers, Blue Bell Ice Cream, Gill's Fried Chicken, Alberto's Crystal Cafe and fresh Gulf shrimp at 50 cents a pound.
Over the next five years we were able to set up some "emergency" runs to Texas for Blue Bell Ice Cream. These rides were held each Memorial Day, but that's another set of stories altogether. It had been some time since we had been south of the Red River and, needless to say, a major "Texas Fix" was sorely needed.
A friend bought a new Yamaha Venture Royale early in the spring and
was anxious to get in a long break-in trip. What could be better than a ride to Big Bend? We could hike the trail to The Window, go over to the little village of Boquillas, Mexico, rent burros, and ride the famous River road; not on burros, but on our Yamahas! Hell of an idea!
So, Rootin’ Tootin’ Newton and I headed south one bright March afternoon, and rolled into Guthrie, Oklahoma around 10:30 p.m. There we had a quick Dairy Queen supper and checked into the cheapest motel we could find.
Early next morning we headed on into Oklahoma City and turned west. As the day wore on we began enjoying the ride a whole lot less. A blue norther was building up to hit us and it was cold.
Worse, R.T. had broken his brand new microphone boom arm. Naturally we were in the wide open spaces miles from the nearest Yamaha dealer.
We approached Big Spring in midafternoon, found the Yamaha dealer had gone out of business, tried at the Honda shop and learned no repair parts were available. He did tell us of a place in Odessa and, since we were headed there anyway, we figured we'd stop on the way through.
Arriving in Odessa, we noticed a slight warming trend and actually enjoyed being on the road again. This little place was a hole in the wall, but they had exactly the piece R.T. needed. Repairs were effected, we ate, gassed up and headed west once again.
By this time we knew we couldn't make Big Bend today. Best bet was to head a little bit further west to Ft. Davis, camp there and take the scenic route back through the Chinati Mountains next morning.
The state park campground was full. No spaces were available because of the PBMA (Permian Basin Motorcycle Association) Spring Roundup rally at the Prude Ranch. We rode the six miles out to the ranch to see if we could camp with the rally attendees.
As we entered the headquarters area we saw an old friend hard at work. Steve Cox, pinstriper extraordanaire, from Abilene, Texas was working on a pretty, new Gold Wing. We asked him about camping and he told us it was going to be damn cold on this night, but that he and a friend had a cabin with four bunks, and since they were only using two, he offered the remaining bunks to us for a nominal fee.
This was a great bargain, providing us with a warm, dry place to sleep, so we paid him our nominals, headed for the cook shack and ate a late meal. After supper we unloaded the bikes and went in for the night. Good thing too, because that night the temperature got down to 17 degrees!
Next morning we waited till it warmed up before taking off. Had a good breakfast at the cook shack, said goodbye to Steve and backtracked in a southeasterly direction down through Marfa. Got caught up in major road construction and traveled about 20 miles on washboard gravel and hard caliche clay.
We arrived at the Rio Grande Campground in Big Bend around 2:30 that afternoon. After pitching our tents, we headed for the river crossing. Once there we had to wait a little while for the ferry boat to pick us up.
The ferry consisted of a 14 foot row boat with a young muchacho paddlin' like crazy with one oar! We crossed with a young married couple, some college students and an old guy. (Nope! Not me!) Once in Mexico we rented two burros ($4.00 for two hours) and rode up the hill to Boquillas.
The senores gave R.T. the biggest burro in the corral and he could still put both feet down. The burro could actually have walked out from under him when he stood up! He looked like Hoss Cartwright on a Shetland pony. Hey, I got pictures!
We ate at the little cantina, drank real Coca Cola and bought a few trinkets. Paco offered to guard our burros for 25 cents. We met the mayor of Boquillas (a burro!), had a cold Cerveza to toast his health and headed back to the crossing where we waited for our oarsman to portage back upriver so he wouldn't overshoot on the American side. Quite a ride!
Once in camp we ate a bowl of Wolf Brand Chili and what was left we fed to some local turkey vultures. They were experienced moochers and acted like pets. (Judy says Alpo Dog Food, Old El Paso Refried Beans and Wolf Brand Chili all come down the same assembly line together. They just alternate the labels!) Hey, chili ain’t just for breakfast any more, you know!
After supper we headed up to the Ranger station to attend the educational program. Different stars were pointed out and identified. The ranger informed us that nowhere else could the stars be seen with such clarity because of the very low level of ambient light around the Big Bend area. The stars were indeed bright, looking like a display of diamonds on black velvet!
When the program was over we headed back to the tent, checked for scorpions and rattlers and hit the sack. Tomorrow we'll ride the river road from Terlingua to Presidio.
Early next morning we headed for Presidio. I'd wanted to run this road for a long time and now I was on the way. It truly is a spectacular road.
The Mexicans call it "El Camino del Rio” which translates to "The River Road." We rode in to the little pueblo of Study Butte and stopped for breakfast at a little roadside cafe. Pretty decent grub here. After breakfast R.T. headed for "el bano" (the bathroom) while the waitress poured me a second cup of coffee. Being friendly, she said, "He's a handsome young man. I bet you're proud of him."
Puzzled, I asked "Why would I be proud of him?"
"You're not proud of your son?!" she asked.
My son?!!! I was fried to hear that! I didn't realize I was looking so old and decrepit. Here I was thinkin' we looked like two young guys out for a ride! This was the first time I realized that the years were catching up with the old body, but not the mind! I will not grow old truly until I grow up!
We continued into this challenging mountain road, hitting the twisties, coming up on steep drop offs and just enjoying the rugged country, Mexico on the left, Texas on the right. Tight turns, steep grades and best of all, when we reached Presidio, we knew we could turn around and do it all over again on the way back!
We spent a couple of days exploring the park on foot and on the bikes. We hiked up to the Window, a sheer 2,000 foot cliff. We saw wild pigs, deer, sheep and snakes. We even checked out the hot springs which was the only place to practice a little personal hygiene. Santa Elena Canyon is spectacular although someone has to stay with the bikes because of bandits. We saw this feature one at a time.
On the last evening we returned to camp to find a note pinned on the tents that said, "you guys owe us for three nights' camping fees. Please pay us in the morning. We open at 6:00 a.m. In the excitement of the ridin', we'd forgotten to register and pay the $5.00 per person per night fee. Well, only thing to do was to do the right thing.
Early next morning we packed up and went to camp headquarters to pay up. We waited about 15 minutes. Nobody showed up to accept our money. Since time was now pressing us, we reluctantly stuffed the money under the door and rode away hoping the folks would know it was from us.
As we rode away, R.T. hollered at me on the CB and said, "Well, Bud, we got a long way to go to make it to Abilene by nightfall.
As we headed northeast, we reviewed the grim prospect in front of us. We had about 1100 miles to go and only two days to get it done. Well, we were in a state that allowed higher speeds before resorting to writing speeding tickets.
If we rode tank to tank (full to empty) and minimized rest stops, we could make Abilene by sundown, stay in the $22.00 Motel 6 and get an early start for the last 550 miles next day. All went well till we got near Big Lake. R.T. radioed that he had no throttle and couldn't make the bike accelerate. I turned around and went back for him. Sure enough, the throttle cable had snapped and retracted back into the cruise control mechanism. So much for new bikes being trouble free.
I reached up under the carbs, twisted the idle adjustment and said "R.T., get on, put your bike in gear, start your engine, let out the clutch immediately and take off. I'll catch you at the Dairy Queen in Big Lake." All Texas towns have Dairy Queens. It's a law or something.
It was fairly easy to catch up with R.T. He was only running about 40 mph on level ground and, although we were still in the mountains, we were nearing the desert which is very flat.
We ate at the Dairy Queen while the engine cooled. As we took off the engine cover we could see that there was no way to fix this mess. Neither could we rig anything up to get us by. By this time I figured we were about 100 miles from San Angelo. There was a Yamaha dealer there if we could make it before they closed. R.T. was game but pointed out that at 40 mph we weren't going to make it in time. No problem, Gringo! We'll twist up the idle adjustment and raise the average speed.
R.T. was off like a shot! I figured I could catch him in a few miles. As I rode on as fast as I felt I could go and not attract the attention of a law officer, I started calling for him on the CB. Man, he was plumb out of range. It took me 20 miles to run him down! Downhill he was running 90 to 95 mph and uphill he only slowed to about 80. Said he was doin' ok, makin' good time. He wanted to keep goin'. The only controls he had were a throttle and a horn! And if the road that led to home was as level as West Texas, we’d have made it easy. But...
We got into San Angelo after the bike shop had closed. Too bad. Well, no choice now but to go on to Abilene and that meant entering the west edge of the Texas Hill Country! As we blazed on, R.T. decided he could make it all the way home running this way. Ah, but the best laid plans of mice and men...about that time we encountered some hills.
These were real hills, not little rises or dips in the road. R.T.’s speed dropped to 30 mph goin' up some of these. No way were we going to make it 600 plus miles like this. By the time we made Abilene it was getting cold again. Remember this was still early in March.
We checked in the luxurious Motel 6 in the upscale part of town and showered for the first time in five days. Sure was great to feel clean again.
R.T. called his wife and told her the news, advising her that he planned to go to the Yamaha dealer next morning and get fixed up for the trip home. No way. She told him that a major winter storm was forecast for Topeka late the next day. She'd have to get a trailer and come get him and the bike.
So, that's the way we left it. I rode out in 26 degrees next mornin' while R.T. slept in. I was faced with a long cold trip racing against a storm while he rode home in a heated pickup truck with country music, coffee and company. Sometimes there's no justice in the world, but that’s the price you pay for a Texas fix!
Hey! I got pictures!
Tuesday, December 1, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
11. What's The Name Of This Place?
Later that same year, Rocket and Piddle took a trip down to South Texas to attend the Sparkling City Road Riders Rally in Corpus Christi.
On the way they got to arguing about Refugio, Texas. Rocket maintained it was pronounced ree-fooge--ee-o. Piddle, who hailed from Texas, insisted it was pronounced ray-furi-o. Back and forth they argued all the way down to the coast. Rocket was a real Yankee from back East and a wimpy tea sipper so what did he know about such things?
Finally they came to the bright lights of Refugio, Texas. "There's a place to eat up ahead," Rocket said. "We'll ask somebody in there. You'll see I'm right!"
"Not a chance, Rocket," Piddle growled. "You're gonna lose this bet."
They pulled in, parked the bikes, and strolled through the front door. Once inside, Rocket put on his best smile and said to the waitress, "Evenin' ma'am. Say, would you mind tellin' me how you pronounce the name of this place?"
She smiled back sweetly and said, "Why, we just call it the Dairy Queen.”
On the way they got to arguing about Refugio, Texas. Rocket maintained it was pronounced ree-fooge--ee-o. Piddle, who hailed from Texas, insisted it was pronounced ray-furi-o. Back and forth they argued all the way down to the coast. Rocket was a real Yankee from back East and a wimpy tea sipper so what did he know about such things?
Finally they came to the bright lights of Refugio, Texas. "There's a place to eat up ahead," Rocket said. "We'll ask somebody in there. You'll see I'm right!"
"Not a chance, Rocket," Piddle growled. "You're gonna lose this bet."
They pulled in, parked the bikes, and strolled through the front door. Once inside, Rocket put on his best smile and said to the waitress, "Evenin' ma'am. Say, would you mind tellin' me how you pronounce the name of this place?"
She smiled back sweetly and said, "Why, we just call it the Dairy Queen.”
Sunday, November 22, 2009
10. Time and Tide
Judy moved down to Big Spring after we finally found a place to live - which at that time was very hard to do. The oil boom was on! Junk houses and rathole apartments were renting for $800 to $1000 per month - many times what they were worth. Six months later the oil boom had gone bust and those same places were rentin’ for $200 and $300 a month. Such is life in the oil patch.
I introduced her around and we rode with the Big Spring Road Riders on supper rides, went to rallies with them, took any excuse to ride anywhere and really enjoyed their company. Judy, the Yankee, even developed a little drawl.
Early one spring morning we met at 7 a.m. sharp in order to ride with the group down to the annual Spring Roundup in Fort Davis, Texas, an event sponsored by the PBMA (Permian Basin Motorcycle Association) from Odessa, Texas. We always met on the dot and left promptly because this was a large group and it took longer to get them moving if late comers were waited on. So, BSRR didn't wait for anybody. I mean anybody! Ever!
On this morning, however, a curve was thrown to the ride leader, Cubby Entwhistle and he went down swinging. Sidney Shankowitz, a ne'er do well with a bad habit of being late was, in point of fact, on time! But, while today he was on time, it was only because he bypassed the gas station. No problem. We swung by The Trucker’s Buddy on the way out of town and let him fill up. In the scheme of things, it appeared no harm was done. It took only a few minutes and we all got to ride down in one big group.
Unbeknownst to us, a pair of stragglers arrived at the designated meeting place at precisely 7:04 am. Far too late to ride with the BSRR, unaware of the group's unscheduled refueling stop and being late already, these two; Howdy Piddle and Randall Rocket, took off for Fort Davis. Out on I-20 they streaked, flying low. "We'll catch 'em in 10 miles." Randall Rocket cackled. He liked nothing better than to wring out his R900RT BMW.
"Damn right!" yelled Howdy. Howdy could really ride fast this day because his wife was home sick. Without her, his light weight Suzuki GS1100 acted like a young colt. Hammer down! Get outa the way!
Meanwhile, the main body of BSRR rolled on at a sedate pace of 60 to 65 mph. Just enjoyin' the ride, Clyde! No one suspected that Rocket and Piddle were blasting westward at great speed intending to catch up with us quick!
Time has a way of passing by. After 112 miles, riding at breakneck speeds, Rocket and Piddle still had not caught up. They were getting discouraged and hungry. Also, they were running low on rocket fuel. Finally they gave up, stopped for gas and had breakfast. There, they fumed and fussed, cussin’ Entwhistle and his hardheaded insistence on leaving at precisely the appointed moment by his watch.
As they finished breakfast, Rocket glumly observed, "Time, Tide and the Big Spring Road Riders wait for no man!" Piddle nodded his head and glanced out the window of the cafe.
Suddenly, his little eyes widened as he saw the entire BSRR group passing by at that very moment. “Damnation!” he howled. “Rocket, look out there! No wonder we couldn’t catch up! We've been ahead of ‘em all this time".
I introduced her around and we rode with the Big Spring Road Riders on supper rides, went to rallies with them, took any excuse to ride anywhere and really enjoyed their company. Judy, the Yankee, even developed a little drawl.
Early one spring morning we met at 7 a.m. sharp in order to ride with the group down to the annual Spring Roundup in Fort Davis, Texas, an event sponsored by the PBMA (Permian Basin Motorcycle Association) from Odessa, Texas. We always met on the dot and left promptly because this was a large group and it took longer to get them moving if late comers were waited on. So, BSRR didn't wait for anybody. I mean anybody! Ever!
On this morning, however, a curve was thrown to the ride leader, Cubby Entwhistle and he went down swinging. Sidney Shankowitz, a ne'er do well with a bad habit of being late was, in point of fact, on time! But, while today he was on time, it was only because he bypassed the gas station. No problem. We swung by The Trucker’s Buddy on the way out of town and let him fill up. In the scheme of things, it appeared no harm was done. It took only a few minutes and we all got to ride down in one big group.
Unbeknownst to us, a pair of stragglers arrived at the designated meeting place at precisely 7:04 am. Far too late to ride with the BSRR, unaware of the group's unscheduled refueling stop and being late already, these two; Howdy Piddle and Randall Rocket, took off for Fort Davis. Out on I-20 they streaked, flying low. "We'll catch 'em in 10 miles." Randall Rocket cackled. He liked nothing better than to wring out his R900RT BMW.
"Damn right!" yelled Howdy. Howdy could really ride fast this day because his wife was home sick. Without her, his light weight Suzuki GS1100 acted like a young colt. Hammer down! Get outa the way!
Meanwhile, the main body of BSRR rolled on at a sedate pace of 60 to 65 mph. Just enjoyin' the ride, Clyde! No one suspected that Rocket and Piddle were blasting westward at great speed intending to catch up with us quick!
Time has a way of passing by. After 112 miles, riding at breakneck speeds, Rocket and Piddle still had not caught up. They were getting discouraged and hungry. Also, they were running low on rocket fuel. Finally they gave up, stopped for gas and had breakfast. There, they fumed and fussed, cussin’ Entwhistle and his hardheaded insistence on leaving at precisely the appointed moment by his watch.
As they finished breakfast, Rocket glumly observed, "Time, Tide and the Big Spring Road Riders wait for no man!" Piddle nodded his head and glanced out the window of the cafe.
Suddenly, his little eyes widened as he saw the entire BSRR group passing by at that very moment. “Damnation!” he howled. “Rocket, look out there! No wonder we couldn’t catch up! We've been ahead of ‘em all this time".
Saturday, November 21, 2009
9. What Size Checks?
My first meeting with the wild bunch known as the Big Spring Road Riders came at the Bonanza Steak House in Big Spring, Texas. I'd been in town about a week having just started a new job at the Cut n' Shoot Medical Center. I didn't really know anybody yet and when I saw all those bikes pull up, I wandered over and started talking. I was invited to attend the business meeting of the BSRR and then stay for social hour afterward.
Unfortunately, I was introduced as a Yankee and had to fix that dreadful misconception right away. You see, in Texas anybody north of the Red River is considered a "Yankee" and a wimpy tea sipper! These folks acted like I had just rode into town in the back of a cantaloupe truck!
I watched with amazement as the meeting got under way using a radically modified version of Robert's Rules of Order. The President waded through the various committee reports, the Road Captain's report, the Treasurer's report and so on and so on....
Things got pretty lively when the Uniform Committee Chairman got up to speak. He was some upset! Some members were out of uniform and seemed unrepentent to boot!
It seems that two sets of uniforms, with minor variations on each, were in conflict. Members from both sides were reluctant to accept each other’s shirts because they had already bought one shirt and didn't want to buy more till this mess got fixed. The basic uniform consisted of:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/4 inch squares
White pearl snaps
The non-approved version:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/2 inch squares
Red pearl snaps
Both versions were nicely contrasted with a blue denim vest. But wait, there was a problem here also. Some of these vests had blue buttons; others had brown buttons, and still others had brass snaps. This is nowhere near uniform in appearance and something must be decided or this Chairman was goin' to kick some real butt!
At this point reason prevailed in the form of a soft spoken elder statesman who asked for recognition from the President.
The President, with obvious relief, recognized the gentleman and sat down to remove himself from any hurled invectives or flying objects. The elder statesman intoned, "I move we have one size check." Having made his motion, he sat back down.
Immediately an antagonist asked for recognition, got it and asked, "What size check?" He sat down.
The statesman sought recognition, got it, and said, "One size." Sat down.
Antagonist: "What size?"
Statesman: "One size!"
Antagonist: "Yes, I know! But WHAT size?!!"
Statesman: "One size! One size! I don't care which size, settle on JUST ONE SIZE!"
This battle could have raged on till morning had not a wise lady behind me asked for recognition, got it and made the following motion. "Mr. President, I move we table this subject till next meeting so our guest will not think we are all plumb loco!" This was accepted, seconded and the vote for adjournment was unanimous. So much for first impressions.
This topic came up many times over the next two years and was never resolved and today you can still find evidence of mixed uniforms.
And the final irony? Some of these good folks have started wearing short sleeved shirts!
Unfortunately, I was introduced as a Yankee and had to fix that dreadful misconception right away. You see, in Texas anybody north of the Red River is considered a "Yankee" and a wimpy tea sipper! These folks acted like I had just rode into town in the back of a cantaloupe truck!
I watched with amazement as the meeting got under way using a radically modified version of Robert's Rules of Order. The President waded through the various committee reports, the Road Captain's report, the Treasurer's report and so on and so on....
Things got pretty lively when the Uniform Committee Chairman got up to speak. He was some upset! Some members were out of uniform and seemed unrepentent to boot!
It seems that two sets of uniforms, with minor variations on each, were in conflict. Members from both sides were reluctant to accept each other’s shirts because they had already bought one shirt and didn't want to buy more till this mess got fixed. The basic uniform consisted of:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/4 inch squares
White pearl snaps
The non-approved version:
One red and white long sleeved shirt
Checks of 1/2 inch squares
Red pearl snaps
Both versions were nicely contrasted with a blue denim vest. But wait, there was a problem here also. Some of these vests had blue buttons; others had brown buttons, and still others had brass snaps. This is nowhere near uniform in appearance and something must be decided or this Chairman was goin' to kick some real butt!
At this point reason prevailed in the form of a soft spoken elder statesman who asked for recognition from the President.
The President, with obvious relief, recognized the gentleman and sat down to remove himself from any hurled invectives or flying objects. The elder statesman intoned, "I move we have one size check." Having made his motion, he sat back down.
Immediately an antagonist asked for recognition, got it and asked, "What size check?" He sat down.
The statesman sought recognition, got it, and said, "One size." Sat down.
Antagonist: "What size?"
Statesman: "One size!"
Antagonist: "Yes, I know! But WHAT size?!!"
Statesman: "One size! One size! I don't care which size, settle on JUST ONE SIZE!"
This battle could have raged on till morning had not a wise lady behind me asked for recognition, got it and made the following motion. "Mr. President, I move we table this subject till next meeting so our guest will not think we are all plumb loco!" This was accepted, seconded and the vote for adjournment was unanimous. So much for first impressions.
This topic came up many times over the next two years and was never resolved and today you can still find evidence of mixed uniforms.
And the final irony? Some of these good folks have started wearing short sleeved shirts!
Thursday, November 12, 2009
8. The April Fool's Bike
April Fool’s Day of 1983 dawned in Big Spring, Texas, with a scary, ugly orange/brown sunrise accompanied by a howling, moaning wind clocked at 88 mph. A Greyhound bus stopped on I-20 due to poor visibility and was promptly rear ended by 18 cars. And this was the day Judy decided which new bike she would buy.
A few weeks before this sand storm, the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company had petitioned the International Trade Commission to levy an import tax of $l,500 on all bikes with an engine displacement size greater than 700 cc. This tax was scheduled to become effective on or around April 5, 1983. The objective was to give the last American motorcycle manufacturer a little breathing room.
After several years of perceived mismanagement by AMF, Harley Davidson had beaten the odds by surviving. Although AMF has come in for a large chunk of criticism, they must be given some credit for the survival; but Harley Davidson survived largely because of a fiercely loyal customer base.
Riders were quick to separate the machine from the company. If it was a pre-1969, it was a Harley. Post-1969 models were cited as AMFs - a rather insulting term. Those most critical and vocal of AMF's shortcomings during this time were the loyal Harley riders and the assembly line employees of the company!
Today, of course, Harley has improved the quality of their product. The import tax that gave them time to solve assembly line, supply, and quality problems was scheduled to run for five years. H-D ended that assistance voluntarily thirteen months early due to listening to the employee on the line! But, the tax increase on imports was not reduced back to previous levels!!?
While Judy and I don't buy Harleys, we still enjoy the success they earned because we like the idea of the last American motorcycle company still being in business. Besides, it’s fun to tweak the udder of the sacred cow. They are so serious! In fact, some of our best friends ride Harleys. Meanwhile, back at the sandstorm...
It was time for Miss Judy to get a new bike. "Someone" had T-boned a Pontiac Firebird while waving at one of the secretaries and broke her swift little Yamaha XS 1100. Also, his hard head! I had just honked and waved at one of the administrative secretaries, a handsome lass in her own right. (ah, you are surprised it was me?) My attention returned to the road just in time to see the front tire of Judy's XS1100 disappearing into the wheel well of the Firebird.
One microsecond later my thin, but wiry body flew over the handlebars and the hood of the car. I came to an abrupt stop on the pavement. Wasn't hurt bad thanks to the helmet I was wearing, but I nearly lost a tooth and my face looked like Alfred E. Neumann for a few weeks. After a brief period of recovery we parted company with the fastest bike in West Texas and headed for the Yamaha shop. The date was April 1, 1983.
Still shopping around, we thought maybe we'd look at some other brands and see if a Honda Interstate or a big Suzuki was a better purchase. We were reluctant to buy another first year model because of the bad experiences we were still having with the infamous KZ 1300.
The Big Spring dealer, Honest John Tweaker, persuaded us with this gentle reminder. "Thanks to our friends at the International Trade Commission, next week this bike will cost you $6700 instead of $5200. You've had Yamahas a long time. You know how strong they are!" A brief, but intense, consultation followed. When it was over, Judy told Tweaker to wrap it up. This became the famous Lady-J that graced the cover of the Venture Road magazine two years later. ( I still can't figure out how that bike's price could go up $1500 as it sat on the showroom floor just because some bureaucrat in Washington passed a tax! )
But what happened to the little XS 1100? Why did it get sold? And what about that T-bone incident? Ah, they form the basis for more stories like these!
And the secretary who caused it all? Boys, I really "flipped" for her!
A few weeks before this sand storm, the Harley Davidson Motorcycle Company had petitioned the International Trade Commission to levy an import tax of $l,500 on all bikes with an engine displacement size greater than 700 cc. This tax was scheduled to become effective on or around April 5, 1983. The objective was to give the last American motorcycle manufacturer a little breathing room.
After several years of perceived mismanagement by AMF, Harley Davidson had beaten the odds by surviving. Although AMF has come in for a large chunk of criticism, they must be given some credit for the survival; but Harley Davidson survived largely because of a fiercely loyal customer base.
Riders were quick to separate the machine from the company. If it was a pre-1969, it was a Harley. Post-1969 models were cited as AMFs - a rather insulting term. Those most critical and vocal of AMF's shortcomings during this time were the loyal Harley riders and the assembly line employees of the company!
Today, of course, Harley has improved the quality of their product. The import tax that gave them time to solve assembly line, supply, and quality problems was scheduled to run for five years. H-D ended that assistance voluntarily thirteen months early due to listening to the employee on the line! But, the tax increase on imports was not reduced back to previous levels!!?
While Judy and I don't buy Harleys, we still enjoy the success they earned because we like the idea of the last American motorcycle company still being in business. Besides, it’s fun to tweak the udder of the sacred cow. They are so serious! In fact, some of our best friends ride Harleys. Meanwhile, back at the sandstorm...
It was time for Miss Judy to get a new bike. "Someone" had T-boned a Pontiac Firebird while waving at one of the secretaries and broke her swift little Yamaha XS 1100. Also, his hard head! I had just honked and waved at one of the administrative secretaries, a handsome lass in her own right. (ah, you are surprised it was me?) My attention returned to the road just in time to see the front tire of Judy's XS1100 disappearing into the wheel well of the Firebird.
One microsecond later my thin, but wiry body flew over the handlebars and the hood of the car. I came to an abrupt stop on the pavement. Wasn't hurt bad thanks to the helmet I was wearing, but I nearly lost a tooth and my face looked like Alfred E. Neumann for a few weeks. After a brief period of recovery we parted company with the fastest bike in West Texas and headed for the Yamaha shop. The date was April 1, 1983.
Still shopping around, we thought maybe we'd look at some other brands and see if a Honda Interstate or a big Suzuki was a better purchase. We were reluctant to buy another first year model because of the bad experiences we were still having with the infamous KZ 1300.
The Big Spring dealer, Honest John Tweaker, persuaded us with this gentle reminder. "Thanks to our friends at the International Trade Commission, next week this bike will cost you $6700 instead of $5200. You've had Yamahas a long time. You know how strong they are!" A brief, but intense, consultation followed. When it was over, Judy told Tweaker to wrap it up. This became the famous Lady-J that graced the cover of the Venture Road magazine two years later. ( I still can't figure out how that bike's price could go up $1500 as it sat on the showroom floor just because some bureaucrat in Washington passed a tax! )
But what happened to the little XS 1100? Why did it get sold? And what about that T-bone incident? Ah, they form the basis for more stories like these!
And the secretary who caused it all? Boys, I really "flipped" for her!
Monday, November 9, 2009
7. The Boyfriend
In 1982, we moved to Big Spring, Texas; near Abilene, where I grew up in the early 50’s. Judy hated it out here, but I loved being able to look out the window and see Texas any time I wanted to. While we lived here, we became involved with the Big Spring Road Riders, a mixed bag of riders if there ever was one.
All were hard working, decent people. Some were very rich from oil holdings while others just barely scraped by. There was a police chief, a CEO, oil field welders, nurses, and other assorted professionals and non-professionals. Some were even...organic.
All had in common a love of independence, a wild sense of adventure and, of course, the motorcycles. Some wore old faded Levis with rope belts and others wore fancy silk shirts and designer denims.
The boyfriend appeared sometime around our second year out there. He came by the house to ask me to look at his bike, a 1979 Honda Hawk 400. The Hawk suffered from leaky forks, bad valves, dirty carbs, an air filter that weighed nine pounds and spark plugs that were original equipment four years ago! It was a case of extreme neglect!
Somebody sent him my way because I worked on my own bike - a 1979 Kawasaki KZ1300. I worked on my own bike because none of the shops in Big Spring would touch it. Folks figured if I could keep this 6 cylinder, overweight, top heavy beast running, I could fix anything.
So here he came one Bender Upgood. (name stolen from Keith Wilson's wacky character in Rider magazine from years before.) The name seemed to fit for reasons that will become clear soon. And I'll call him The Boyfriend because he was struck dumb by the lovely and talented Miss Judy. Yep, ol' Judy's still got it! Bender could think of more reasons to park next to her and talk to her than any love struck cowboy I ever knew.
Well, I fixed up the Hawk as good as I could, even putting on a luggage rack so he could carry his carpenter tools off to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I charged him a reasonable fee and sent him on his way. I thought that was the last of him, but true love is a damn strong magnet!
Two weeks later he was back. He wanted to get a bigger bike and asked me about a Suzuki GS 1100. This is the big one; with the shaft drive.
Now Bender was a little guy - only about 5 feet 4 inches tall with real short little old legs. Even on the Hawk he tiptoed around running into our car on the driveway and falling down on a couple of occasions. Every stop was a semi-controlled lurch and fall. No part of this bike was unscratched or undented. At each stop he'd seek Judy out and park next to her. What damage would he do to her bike with a bigger, heavier machine?!
Judy was concerned that he would fall over into her new bike, a beautiful black 1983 Yamaha Venture. She did everything she could to discourage him yet he continued to follow her and he continued to fall over - although luckily not on her bike. Some of the other riders also began calling him Bender Upgood and today I can't remember his real name!
Bender provided a great source of amusement to the Big Spring Road Riders. Every trip required a group effort to help him pick up the big Suzy. We even put a "shiny side up" sticker on it. He fell over one time in a small ditch and all we could see were his little feet wavin' in the breeze!
One day we learned the law was after him for writing hot checks, income tax evasion and teaching certain cute little tricks to an underage female! Yes, he was quite the lady’s man! He disappeared for good shortly after the law came to town and started asking questions concerning his whereabouts.
Then the IRS people showed up.
Following that, the outraged father of the underaged teeny bopper appeared. He was willing to pay good cash money to lay hands on one Bender Upgood, that little crap weasel! "Just for a minute," the fellow said.
Now it was said that Bender did not make good decisions, but he certainly made fast ones. After learning of the sudden interest in him, he immediately changed his occupation from a carpenter to a blacksmith, making a bolt for the state line!
Although we never saw Bender again after that but, in our own ways, we all sorta missed him a lot more than we expected. I think even Judy liked him a little.
She always did seem to attract odd types!
All were hard working, decent people. Some were very rich from oil holdings while others just barely scraped by. There was a police chief, a CEO, oil field welders, nurses, and other assorted professionals and non-professionals. Some were even...organic.
All had in common a love of independence, a wild sense of adventure and, of course, the motorcycles. Some wore old faded Levis with rope belts and others wore fancy silk shirts and designer denims.
The boyfriend appeared sometime around our second year out there. He came by the house to ask me to look at his bike, a 1979 Honda Hawk 400. The Hawk suffered from leaky forks, bad valves, dirty carbs, an air filter that weighed nine pounds and spark plugs that were original equipment four years ago! It was a case of extreme neglect!
Somebody sent him my way because I worked on my own bike - a 1979 Kawasaki KZ1300. I worked on my own bike because none of the shops in Big Spring would touch it. Folks figured if I could keep this 6 cylinder, overweight, top heavy beast running, I could fix anything.
So here he came one Bender Upgood. (name stolen from Keith Wilson's wacky character in Rider magazine from years before.) The name seemed to fit for reasons that will become clear soon. And I'll call him The Boyfriend because he was struck dumb by the lovely and talented Miss Judy. Yep, ol' Judy's still got it! Bender could think of more reasons to park next to her and talk to her than any love struck cowboy I ever knew.
Well, I fixed up the Hawk as good as I could, even putting on a luggage rack so he could carry his carpenter tools off to Albuquerque, New Mexico. I charged him a reasonable fee and sent him on his way. I thought that was the last of him, but true love is a damn strong magnet!
Two weeks later he was back. He wanted to get a bigger bike and asked me about a Suzuki GS 1100. This is the big one; with the shaft drive.
Now Bender was a little guy - only about 5 feet 4 inches tall with real short little old legs. Even on the Hawk he tiptoed around running into our car on the driveway and falling down on a couple of occasions. Every stop was a semi-controlled lurch and fall. No part of this bike was unscratched or undented. At each stop he'd seek Judy out and park next to her. What damage would he do to her bike with a bigger, heavier machine?!
Judy was concerned that he would fall over into her new bike, a beautiful black 1983 Yamaha Venture. She did everything she could to discourage him yet he continued to follow her and he continued to fall over - although luckily not on her bike. Some of the other riders also began calling him Bender Upgood and today I can't remember his real name!
Bender provided a great source of amusement to the Big Spring Road Riders. Every trip required a group effort to help him pick up the big Suzy. We even put a "shiny side up" sticker on it. He fell over one time in a small ditch and all we could see were his little feet wavin' in the breeze!
One day we learned the law was after him for writing hot checks, income tax evasion and teaching certain cute little tricks to an underage female! Yes, he was quite the lady’s man! He disappeared for good shortly after the law came to town and started asking questions concerning his whereabouts.
Then the IRS people showed up.
Following that, the outraged father of the underaged teeny bopper appeared. He was willing to pay good cash money to lay hands on one Bender Upgood, that little crap weasel! "Just for a minute," the fellow said.
Now it was said that Bender did not make good decisions, but he certainly made fast ones. After learning of the sudden interest in him, he immediately changed his occupation from a carpenter to a blacksmith, making a bolt for the state line!
Although we never saw Bender again after that but, in our own ways, we all sorta missed him a lot more than we expected. I think even Judy liked him a little.
She always did seem to attract odd types!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
6. It's Only A Few Miles!
One summer we took a vacation with another couple that perhaps we didn't know as well as we should have. It seemed like a great trip we had planned -- across Kansas to Colorado, up through the northeast corner into Wyoming, on up to Yellowstone and over to Sturgis, South Dakota.
Since we were scheduled to leave town right after lunch, Judy and I appeared at their house at the appointed hour. We soon discovered that they were running a little late. We had to wait for their kids to be taken to grandma's, the dog taken to the vet, the trailer to be hooked up, etc., etc. Finally, by 4 p.m. we were on our way. We then had to ride all night so we could get to the special cabin in the mountains that was scheduled to be our first stop.
This couple was known as the DePesto’s, consisting of Delbert and Brunhilda. Because of our late start, Delbert ran out of steam around Burlington, Colorado and decided to call a rest stop for a nap. We pulled in to a city park, spread our sleeping bags on the grass and intended to sleep a while.
After a mere 45 minutes' rest, Delbert leaped up, announced to the world he couldn't sleep any more and that we were going to hit the road. By 10 am next morning, we were completely lost up in the mountains as Delbert cruised from one back road to another looking for the cabin. After what seemed to be an eternity, Delbert stumbled on to the right road. The very steep road, winding, full of chuckholes and gravel, dead ended at a surprisingly nice cabin. No one was home when we arrived. As we had only 45 minutes' sleep in over 24 hours Judy and I began to set up our tent with the idea that we could at least get some much needed rest.
Delbert squelched that idea saying we needed to wait and ask permission before making ourselves at home. Judy began calming me down. I think my little eyes were narrowing in the distinctive Texas squint and she feared I would lose control and bounce a flint rock off his head! After a couple of hours or containing myself , the absentee owners appeared and invited us to pitch our tent, come in, clean up and eat. Thus ended the first really long day of this unholy alliance.
Next morning we took off bright and early. Well, for Delbert and Brunhilda (his lovely wife) it was bright and early. For us it was more like mid to late morning. Delbert set the tone for the day by starting his bike and letting it idle as he walked around saying his good-bye’s to our hosts.
Judy warned him that idling in neutral, on this steep grade, the bike may roll off the side stand. "Naw." Delbert said, "I've done this lots of times." As he concluded this pontification, he turned to see his bike roll off the side stand and fall on its side. The late start was made even later as he had to effect repairs. He even took off the guard rails and changed sides so the blemishes would be on the inside and wouldn't show.
Finally, we got underway. Delbert wanted to be in Rawlins, Wyoming for the night and he began his famous line of "It’s only a few miles." Needless to say, we came nowhere near Rawlins on this day. We camped in Craig, Colorado that evening and Judy fixed chicken fried steak over an open fire with real baked potatoes. It seemed that at least we were going to enjoy this trip. But, wait! It gets worse!
Delbert swung into action again the next morning; disdaining breakfast in Craig and wanting to get an early start. "We'll eat somewhere up the road near Rawlins," he said. "It’s only a few miles."
As we headed northwest, I began thinking that Rawlins was a good ways east of our current position. Being geographically challenged as I am, I asked Judy, the navigator, and she said she had not looked at a map since Delbert was leading the way, but she recalled that Rawlins was indeed east of us. We decided that when we stopped for breakfast we'd better consult our own maps and see exactly where we were. In the meantime, there were hundreds of deer and antelope along the road and I commented to Delbert that there were so many I couldn’t count them all. He didn’t know what I was talking about, couldn’t see them even when I pointed them out! Aiee! This guy is makin’ me crazy!
Two hours and a hundred miles or so later, we came to Interstate 80 and a little cafe. We ate a big breakfast, checked our maps and pointed out to Delbert that Rawlins was about 70 miles back to the east! If we were going to make Yellowstone on this trip, we'd better stay on the superslab and drop the hammer!
Reluctantly, he agreed. "You lead," he said. "I'll follow." I figured he wanted me to get the speeding ticket. No matter, I took off anyway.
Soon I was up around 90 mph and Delbert's headlight was just a small dot miles behind us. I mentioned to Judy that this provided a great opportunity for us to exit, hide out beneath the highway and be finished with Delbert. She accused me of unsociable tendencies and forced me to continue on.
We came in to Rock Springs miles ahead of our nemesis. While I gassed up the bike Judy went inside to get us something to drink. I could hear Delbert calling us on the CB, but I didn't answer. When Judy came out he was still calling for us so she answered. Now we're all together again. Isn't this nice? Judy pointed out that we're still a long way from Yellowstone and, since it was getting late, we'd better find a campground pretty quick. "Oh, yes," Bruny chimed in. "I want a site with evergreen trees, a small stream, hot showers and a pool." Delbert was all for going on to Yellowstone. "After all," he said, "It's only a few miles."
Ignoring Delbert's comments, we stopped at a ranger station to inquire about camping spots. The ranger told us there were only a few places left at Gros Ventre and that we'd better hurry. He also said that we wouldn't find a thing toward Yellowstone. All campgrounds are full and have been since 1:00 p.m.. So, we headed back to Gros Ventre and found two nice level sites open. Although both sat on a gravel parking area next to a bathroom/shower facility, we took them any way. Not exactly the perfect spot, but a spot nonetheless.
We began pitching our tent when Delbert and Bruny announced, "We're going on to Yellowstone." Judy reminded them that the Ranger had just informed us that all sites were full.
"No, we don't believe that.” they said. “We're going on. We’ll see you in Cody."
I politely kept my mouth shut not wishing to interfere with this wonderful decision that would give us peace of mind and get rid of them!
They rode away saying, "Better come with us. It's only a few miles to Yellowstone." We bid them farewell, looked at each other and laughed... for we had consulted the map! We decided to clean up and go into Jackson Hole for a rainbow trout supper. After all it's only a few miles.
We had a fine supper, walked around town, talked to some locals who directed us to a spot where we could watch eagles and antelope in the morning. Eventually we went home to our tent trailer and sacked out for the night, planning to stay in this neat area for a day or two and enjoy our privacy. But, wait! What's that I hear? Sounds like a Yamaha to me. Yes, Delbert and Brunhilda have returned and they are bickering bitterly, nearly coming to blows when Delbert knocked Brunhilda’s helmet off the bike and it crashed onto the gravel parking lot.
They had ridden all the way to the entrance to Yellowstone Park - grand total of 109 miles one way -- on top of the 500 mile day they had already completed. They checked out every campground along the way ... there were no vacancies! Hmmm! Where have I heard that before? Exhausted they then rode 109 miles back to us, arriving at 1:00 am. Wearily, they pitched their tent next to ours and settled down for a short night.
Early next morning, Delbert and Bruny were up and ready to go at first light. "Goin' to Cody today." they said. "What? You guys aren't coming?
We declined.
“Well...so, we'll meet you at the KOA campground in Cody on Thursday. OK?" Sure, Delbert. We’ll be there. (Chuckle, chuckle.)
And with that, they were off with Delbert's famous last words..."We'll be in Cody today, by noon at the latest. It's only a few miles."
Now, gentle reader, I must ask you...this fellow had just ridden 109 miles to the entrance of Yellowstone the previous evening. From the entrance around to the Cody entrance was another 120 miles or so, then another 80 miles on from that entrance to Cody, most of this in heavy traffic and very slow going. Do you really think he’ll make it to Cody by noon?
Judy and I spent the day touring the local attractions, bathing in the river and sitting by the campfire. Two days later we got into Cody in the late afternoon. We found a neat campground ...but, it wasn't the KOA! That one we avoided like the plague. We cleaned up and went to the Buffalo Bill Cody Museum. There was a painting there done by H.H. Cross in 1878 that I had waited years to see. It’s entitled "The Victor". It‘s nine feet tall and six feet wide, depicting a buffalo shot full of arrows. But...at the buffalo’s feet is an Indian, trampled pretty good and obviously done in. Hence the name...”The Victor”. Your choice.
We spent a couple of days in the Cody area seeing the historical sights before going out to Devil's Tower, camping there for the night. How peaceful it was without the bickering De Pesto’s.
After two more nights we reluctantly started toward home. We rode through Custer State Park, the Needle’s Highway with the neat pigtails.
Suddenly, when we rounded a curve, there they were! Again! Delbert and Brunhilda! Sitting alongside the road talking about a new side trip they wanted to take before heading for home. Judy pointed out that it would take quite a while for us to get back and we'd better decline.
Delbert looked at us in his strange way and said, "But there’s plenty of time. After all, it's only a few miles!"
Since we were scheduled to leave town right after lunch, Judy and I appeared at their house at the appointed hour. We soon discovered that they were running a little late. We had to wait for their kids to be taken to grandma's, the dog taken to the vet, the trailer to be hooked up, etc., etc. Finally, by 4 p.m. we were on our way. We then had to ride all night so we could get to the special cabin in the mountains that was scheduled to be our first stop.
This couple was known as the DePesto’s, consisting of Delbert and Brunhilda. Because of our late start, Delbert ran out of steam around Burlington, Colorado and decided to call a rest stop for a nap. We pulled in to a city park, spread our sleeping bags on the grass and intended to sleep a while.
After a mere 45 minutes' rest, Delbert leaped up, announced to the world he couldn't sleep any more and that we were going to hit the road. By 10 am next morning, we were completely lost up in the mountains as Delbert cruised from one back road to another looking for the cabin. After what seemed to be an eternity, Delbert stumbled on to the right road. The very steep road, winding, full of chuckholes and gravel, dead ended at a surprisingly nice cabin. No one was home when we arrived. As we had only 45 minutes' sleep in over 24 hours Judy and I began to set up our tent with the idea that we could at least get some much needed rest.
Delbert squelched that idea saying we needed to wait and ask permission before making ourselves at home. Judy began calming me down. I think my little eyes were narrowing in the distinctive Texas squint and she feared I would lose control and bounce a flint rock off his head! After a couple of hours or containing myself , the absentee owners appeared and invited us to pitch our tent, come in, clean up and eat. Thus ended the first really long day of this unholy alliance.
Next morning we took off bright and early. Well, for Delbert and Brunhilda (his lovely wife) it was bright and early. For us it was more like mid to late morning. Delbert set the tone for the day by starting his bike and letting it idle as he walked around saying his good-bye’s to our hosts.
Judy warned him that idling in neutral, on this steep grade, the bike may roll off the side stand. "Naw." Delbert said, "I've done this lots of times." As he concluded this pontification, he turned to see his bike roll off the side stand and fall on its side. The late start was made even later as he had to effect repairs. He even took off the guard rails and changed sides so the blemishes would be on the inside and wouldn't show.
Finally, we got underway. Delbert wanted to be in Rawlins, Wyoming for the night and he began his famous line of "It’s only a few miles." Needless to say, we came nowhere near Rawlins on this day. We camped in Craig, Colorado that evening and Judy fixed chicken fried steak over an open fire with real baked potatoes. It seemed that at least we were going to enjoy this trip. But, wait! It gets worse!
Delbert swung into action again the next morning; disdaining breakfast in Craig and wanting to get an early start. "We'll eat somewhere up the road near Rawlins," he said. "It’s only a few miles."
As we headed northwest, I began thinking that Rawlins was a good ways east of our current position. Being geographically challenged as I am, I asked Judy, the navigator, and she said she had not looked at a map since Delbert was leading the way, but she recalled that Rawlins was indeed east of us. We decided that when we stopped for breakfast we'd better consult our own maps and see exactly where we were. In the meantime, there were hundreds of deer and antelope along the road and I commented to Delbert that there were so many I couldn’t count them all. He didn’t know what I was talking about, couldn’t see them even when I pointed them out! Aiee! This guy is makin’ me crazy!
Two hours and a hundred miles or so later, we came to Interstate 80 and a little cafe. We ate a big breakfast, checked our maps and pointed out to Delbert that Rawlins was about 70 miles back to the east! If we were going to make Yellowstone on this trip, we'd better stay on the superslab and drop the hammer!
Reluctantly, he agreed. "You lead," he said. "I'll follow." I figured he wanted me to get the speeding ticket. No matter, I took off anyway.
Soon I was up around 90 mph and Delbert's headlight was just a small dot miles behind us. I mentioned to Judy that this provided a great opportunity for us to exit, hide out beneath the highway and be finished with Delbert. She accused me of unsociable tendencies and forced me to continue on.
We came in to Rock Springs miles ahead of our nemesis. While I gassed up the bike Judy went inside to get us something to drink. I could hear Delbert calling us on the CB, but I didn't answer. When Judy came out he was still calling for us so she answered. Now we're all together again. Isn't this nice? Judy pointed out that we're still a long way from Yellowstone and, since it was getting late, we'd better find a campground pretty quick. "Oh, yes," Bruny chimed in. "I want a site with evergreen trees, a small stream, hot showers and a pool." Delbert was all for going on to Yellowstone. "After all," he said, "It's only a few miles."
Ignoring Delbert's comments, we stopped at a ranger station to inquire about camping spots. The ranger told us there were only a few places left at Gros Ventre and that we'd better hurry. He also said that we wouldn't find a thing toward Yellowstone. All campgrounds are full and have been since 1:00 p.m.. So, we headed back to Gros Ventre and found two nice level sites open. Although both sat on a gravel parking area next to a bathroom/shower facility, we took them any way. Not exactly the perfect spot, but a spot nonetheless.
We began pitching our tent when Delbert and Bruny announced, "We're going on to Yellowstone." Judy reminded them that the Ranger had just informed us that all sites were full.
"No, we don't believe that.” they said. “We're going on. We’ll see you in Cody."
I politely kept my mouth shut not wishing to interfere with this wonderful decision that would give us peace of mind and get rid of them!
They rode away saying, "Better come with us. It's only a few miles to Yellowstone." We bid them farewell, looked at each other and laughed... for we had consulted the map! We decided to clean up and go into Jackson Hole for a rainbow trout supper. After all it's only a few miles.
We had a fine supper, walked around town, talked to some locals who directed us to a spot where we could watch eagles and antelope in the morning. Eventually we went home to our tent trailer and sacked out for the night, planning to stay in this neat area for a day or two and enjoy our privacy. But, wait! What's that I hear? Sounds like a Yamaha to me. Yes, Delbert and Brunhilda have returned and they are bickering bitterly, nearly coming to blows when Delbert knocked Brunhilda’s helmet off the bike and it crashed onto the gravel parking lot.
They had ridden all the way to the entrance to Yellowstone Park - grand total of 109 miles one way -- on top of the 500 mile day they had already completed. They checked out every campground along the way ... there were no vacancies! Hmmm! Where have I heard that before? Exhausted they then rode 109 miles back to us, arriving at 1:00 am. Wearily, they pitched their tent next to ours and settled down for a short night.
Early next morning, Delbert and Bruny were up and ready to go at first light. "Goin' to Cody today." they said. "What? You guys aren't coming?
We declined.
“Well...so, we'll meet you at the KOA campground in Cody on Thursday. OK?" Sure, Delbert. We’ll be there. (Chuckle, chuckle.)
And with that, they were off with Delbert's famous last words..."We'll be in Cody today, by noon at the latest. It's only a few miles."
Now, gentle reader, I must ask you...this fellow had just ridden 109 miles to the entrance of Yellowstone the previous evening. From the entrance around to the Cody entrance was another 120 miles or so, then another 80 miles on from that entrance to Cody, most of this in heavy traffic and very slow going. Do you really think he’ll make it to Cody by noon?
Judy and I spent the day touring the local attractions, bathing in the river and sitting by the campfire. Two days later we got into Cody in the late afternoon. We found a neat campground ...but, it wasn't the KOA! That one we avoided like the plague. We cleaned up and went to the Buffalo Bill Cody Museum. There was a painting there done by H.H. Cross in 1878 that I had waited years to see. It’s entitled "The Victor". It‘s nine feet tall and six feet wide, depicting a buffalo shot full of arrows. But...at the buffalo’s feet is an Indian, trampled pretty good and obviously done in. Hence the name...”The Victor”. Your choice.
We spent a couple of days in the Cody area seeing the historical sights before going out to Devil's Tower, camping there for the night. How peaceful it was without the bickering De Pesto’s.
After two more nights we reluctantly started toward home. We rode through Custer State Park, the Needle’s Highway with the neat pigtails.
Suddenly, when we rounded a curve, there they were! Again! Delbert and Brunhilda! Sitting alongside the road talking about a new side trip they wanted to take before heading for home. Judy pointed out that it would take quite a while for us to get back and we'd better decline.
Delbert looked at us in his strange way and said, "But there’s plenty of time. After all, it's only a few miles!"
5. Cottonwood Pass
Late summer of 1978 found us on the way to tackle Cottonwood Pass. The new KZ 900 Kawasaki was so overloaded that the luggage rack bent before we rode fifty miles.
On the way to Colorado we stopped at the Dairy Queen in Jetmore, Kansas. Two riders pulled in from the west. We watched them take off helmets, gloves, scarves and jackets thinking something was odd about their appearance. As the riding gear came off it finally dawned on us that they were little old ladies -- retired school teachers from Dimmitt, Texas. They were on their way to visit a sister in Admire, Kansas. We visited a little while and then went our separate ways. You really do meet some interesting folks when you ride!
Two days later.....here we are at the blueberry pie shop at Taylor Reservoir - the jumping off place for hardy souls who are brave enough (or cheerfully inexperienced enough) to challenge Cottonwood Pass. Actually, I rode across Cottonwood Pass...Judy walked! The grades were a little steeper, the gravel a little deeper and the turns a little tighter than we had expected. At each switchback we'd stop, get off the bike, walk around the turn and survey the road. Then I'd get on the bike, negotiate the turn, go up to a level spot and wait for Judy to catch up. Together we turned a simple 45 minute climb into a day long test of endurance and fortitude.
When Judy finally got to the summit we rested a while, took the obligatory pictures, saddled up and headed down the other side. What a difference! I can truly say that this is when I learned to ride -- not from skill or ability but from sheer panic. There are no brakes made that can hold back your forward progress on this steep descent. It was either make the turns at speed or go off the mountain. After a dozen or so “skillful” negotiations of the downhill switchbacks I relaxed and became more comfortable with the bike and quite pleased with my new-found skills. Judy remembers this trip somewhat differently, but then she has more nerve that I do.
No way would I have ridden behind me up and down that mountain!
On the way to Colorado we stopped at the Dairy Queen in Jetmore, Kansas. Two riders pulled in from the west. We watched them take off helmets, gloves, scarves and jackets thinking something was odd about their appearance. As the riding gear came off it finally dawned on us that they were little old ladies -- retired school teachers from Dimmitt, Texas. They were on their way to visit a sister in Admire, Kansas. We visited a little while and then went our separate ways. You really do meet some interesting folks when you ride!
Two days later.....here we are at the blueberry pie shop at Taylor Reservoir - the jumping off place for hardy souls who are brave enough (or cheerfully inexperienced enough) to challenge Cottonwood Pass. Actually, I rode across Cottonwood Pass...Judy walked! The grades were a little steeper, the gravel a little deeper and the turns a little tighter than we had expected. At each switchback we'd stop, get off the bike, walk around the turn and survey the road. Then I'd get on the bike, negotiate the turn, go up to a level spot and wait for Judy to catch up. Together we turned a simple 45 minute climb into a day long test of endurance and fortitude.
When Judy finally got to the summit we rested a while, took the obligatory pictures, saddled up and headed down the other side. What a difference! I can truly say that this is when I learned to ride -- not from skill or ability but from sheer panic. There are no brakes made that can hold back your forward progress on this steep descent. It was either make the turns at speed or go off the mountain. After a dozen or so “skillful” negotiations of the downhill switchbacks I relaxed and became more comfortable with the bike and quite pleased with my new-found skills. Judy remembers this trip somewhat differently, but then she has more nerve that I do.
No way would I have ridden behind me up and down that mountain!
Thursday, October 29, 2009
4. How Fast Can You Grow?
The first thing we learned about motorcycling was how quickly the BIG Yamaha 400's shrunk. We'd been riding about two months when our neighbors, Sterdan Frickley and his wife, Patience, bought a REALLY BIG Kawasaki 900. Now that was a mean machine! Tough, growly exhaust note, powerful neck snappin' performance, huge presence on the road and large doses of just plain fun! Judy wondered why anybody would need a motorcycle that big. So did I, but one trip with them on our little bikes - which had suddenly taken on moped characteristics - was enough to convince me that we had to upgrade.
With fresh money clutched in my grubby little fist, I raced to the dealership to purchase a brand new 1978 Suzuki GS750. Although the dealership was nearly empty, no one seemed interested enough in conservative looking folks to help us. So we left taking our money with us.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the friendly Kawasaki dealer who was only too happy to show us a beautiful 1976 Kawasaki KZ 900 with only 456 miles on the clock. It was dark green with lighter green striping. A really pretty bike. We bought it on the spot! Have you ever heard of cognitive dissonance? Buyer's remorse? Naw, we sure didn't have it!
After we sold one of the small Yamahas, we headed for Texas to show the bike off to Bill and Sue, the Texicans from Cottonwood Pass; the unknown instigators of this whole ordeal. Frickley and Patience went along mostly to get to meet some real Texans but also to protect us from ourselves.
On this trip we learned that sunflower seeds will behave unpredictably behind a fairing when the hulls are spit out at turnpike speeds. Patience loved these little morsels and as she consumed the tasty insides, she discarded the hulls by spitting them at the back of Frickley’s helmet. As the wind caught the seeds, they whipped around behind the windshield, in front of him and disappeared down along the front fork tubes. Frickley, of course, suspected nothing and commented frequently about little "bugs" that kept jumping around in front of him. Patience enjoyed his description of these "little bugs" and the way his head jerked every time he saw one. He provided so much entertainment that she never told him the truth. One can be very imaginative when given the time!
Poor old Frickley. Truly, he never knew what hit him!
With fresh money clutched in my grubby little fist, I raced to the dealership to purchase a brand new 1978 Suzuki GS750. Although the dealership was nearly empty, no one seemed interested enough in conservative looking folks to help us. So we left taking our money with us.
Twenty minutes later we arrived at the friendly Kawasaki dealer who was only too happy to show us a beautiful 1976 Kawasaki KZ 900 with only 456 miles on the clock. It was dark green with lighter green striping. A really pretty bike. We bought it on the spot! Have you ever heard of cognitive dissonance? Buyer's remorse? Naw, we sure didn't have it!
After we sold one of the small Yamahas, we headed for Texas to show the bike off to Bill and Sue, the Texicans from Cottonwood Pass; the unknown instigators of this whole ordeal. Frickley and Patience went along mostly to get to meet some real Texans but also to protect us from ourselves.
On this trip we learned that sunflower seeds will behave unpredictably behind a fairing when the hulls are spit out at turnpike speeds. Patience loved these little morsels and as she consumed the tasty insides, she discarded the hulls by spitting them at the back of Frickley’s helmet. As the wind caught the seeds, they whipped around behind the windshield, in front of him and disappeared down along the front fork tubes. Frickley, of course, suspected nothing and commented frequently about little "bugs" that kept jumping around in front of him. Patience enjoyed his description of these "little bugs" and the way his head jerked every time he saw one. He provided so much entertainment that she never told him the truth. One can be very imaginative when given the time!
Poor old Frickley. Truly, he never knew what hit him!
Wednesday, October 28, 2009
3. Gettin' Started
January, 1978. Big blizzard in Topeka. What better time to buy a bike than during a major winter storm? So, there we were at the Harding Wheel Yamaha shop wheelin' and dealin' for a pair of "BIG" Yamaha XS 400's. We figured we needed two bikes and that we’d get a better deal if we bought both at the same time. The blizzard was a stroke of luck that we took as a good omen because buyers weren't exactly beatin' down the doors to get in.
We negotiated for the best price and settled back to wait for warmer weather so we could get the bikes home. It proved to be a long wait. Several weeks later the weather finally warmed up enough to melt the snow and ice off the roads and we were able to ride our purchases home so we could at least look at them any time we wanted to. We spent lots of time sitting in the garage “test sitting” and "practicing head turning"!
Winter had set in with a vengeance. It was late in March before we actually took the bikes out for the first time. It was so cold the engines wouldn't run well without a little choke. Could be we neophytes didn't know much about ridin' either! On this first ride we stopped in the left turn lane at a stoplight on an uphill grade. When the light turned green, I made it through the light but Miss Judy kept stalling her engine. Seeing she was having troubles, I made a U-turn and headed back to help her. Immediately I dropped my bike on the sand in the road. As I picked it up, it occurred to me that this was going to be more demanding than we expected.
Several light changes and bike drops later I finally got to Judy's bike and pushed it out to a car lot. It was only then that we realized what great entertainment we'd provided the salesmen when one of them grinned at us and asked, "Been ridin' long?"
Well, that's how we got started. Today, of course, we're somewhat more competent riders having become Kansas Certified Motorcycle Safety Instructors and more than passable mechanics.
The idea for this book came from friends we rode with who read the monthly newsletters we published. They encouraged us to "save the good stuff" and put together a collection of adventure stories. Some are brief, some long. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Sometimes our (my) conservative value system shows through and I preach a little bit.
Basically, I like things society frowns on; guns, hunting, racing, motorcycles, independence and freedom. I don't like liberal politicians, whiners, taxes, biased news media, bandits, welfare or personal limitations imposed on us by special interest groups in the name of "fairness".
So, for better or worse, here are some of the stories we remember best. As we put this together, we remembered the wide variety of wonderful and funny people we met along the way. Some are really unique as you'll see. All have a special place in our hearts and memories. We hope you enjoy reading about these real folks as much as we enjoyed ridin’ with them.
We negotiated for the best price and settled back to wait for warmer weather so we could get the bikes home. It proved to be a long wait. Several weeks later the weather finally warmed up enough to melt the snow and ice off the roads and we were able to ride our purchases home so we could at least look at them any time we wanted to. We spent lots of time sitting in the garage “test sitting” and "practicing head turning"!
Winter had set in with a vengeance. It was late in March before we actually took the bikes out for the first time. It was so cold the engines wouldn't run well without a little choke. Could be we neophytes didn't know much about ridin' either! On this first ride we stopped in the left turn lane at a stoplight on an uphill grade. When the light turned green, I made it through the light but Miss Judy kept stalling her engine. Seeing she was having troubles, I made a U-turn and headed back to help her. Immediately I dropped my bike on the sand in the road. As I picked it up, it occurred to me that this was going to be more demanding than we expected.
Several light changes and bike drops later I finally got to Judy's bike and pushed it out to a car lot. It was only then that we realized what great entertainment we'd provided the salesmen when one of them grinned at us and asked, "Been ridin' long?"
Well, that's how we got started. Today, of course, we're somewhat more competent riders having become Kansas Certified Motorcycle Safety Instructors and more than passable mechanics.
The idea for this book came from friends we rode with who read the monthly newsletters we published. They encouraged us to "save the good stuff" and put together a collection of adventure stories. Some are brief, some long. Names have been changed to protect the guilty. Sometimes our (my) conservative value system shows through and I preach a little bit.
Basically, I like things society frowns on; guns, hunting, racing, motorcycles, independence and freedom. I don't like liberal politicians, whiners, taxes, biased news media, bandits, welfare or personal limitations imposed on us by special interest groups in the name of "fairness".
So, for better or worse, here are some of the stories we remember best. As we put this together, we remembered the wide variety of wonderful and funny people we met along the way. Some are really unique as you'll see. All have a special place in our hearts and memories. We hope you enjoy reading about these real folks as much as we enjoyed ridin’ with them.
Monday, October 26, 2009
2. The Seed Is Planted
August, 1973 found us headed for the Colorado Rocky Mountains; not on motorcycles -- that would come years later -- but in a 1962 Willys Jeep station wagon pulling a home made trailer with 55 gallons of gasoline in tow. This was the time of the great gas shortage (?) and we were goin' to the mountains! Gasoline was hard to find so we planned to buy it where we could find it and use the gasoline in the barrel as a reserve insurance policy. This is how Miss Judy and I work and play. When we decide to do something, we do it. Our mission in life is to store up enough memories to see us through the grey times. Hey! Life's too short to dance with ugly girls!
We were living in Western Kansas then. We were only four hours away from the cool high reaches of the Colorado mountains. We had both worked hard for a long time and were ready to get away from it all.
The second day out we reached Taylor Reservoir late in the afternoon. We camped in those days and we were looking for a suitable site when we spotted a place on the side of the mountain that we liked. Since another camper saw it at the same time, Miss Judy leaped out of the Jeep and did a sub ten second 100 yard dash to secure the place for us. We set up camp, fixed a good supper over an open fire and met our neighbors who would become good friends.
They had wondered how our little Jeep could walk away from their big Ford pickup on the steep grades. Their amazement was explained when they realized that under the hood of the little Jeep was a l967 Chevrolet 327 engine with hot rod heads, 4 barrel carb, dual glass packs and all that stuff. Linked to a very low geared rear end, it was deadly in the boulevard stoplight wars; even eating up a Pontiac GTO Tri-Power one night down in Texas.
While it had plenty of power to pull the steep mountain grades it unfortunately had gas mileage that was correspondingly low. Of course, we didn't brag about that fact!
Our new friends, Bill and Sue, were from Arlington, Texas. Naturally the universal Texan-to-Texan law was invoked and we spent the next few days agreeing that Texas was indeed a fine place and traveling together. They had pulled a trailer to the mountains also. Their cargo was not gasoline but a new l973 Yamaha RD 350 motorcycle. This was how our interest in motorcycling first began.
Bill and Sue planned to ride across Cottonwood Pass the next morning on the 350 and asked if we would accompany them in case they had problems. Cottonwood Pass was 36 miles of gravel road -- a challenge even on four wheels, let alone two. But this guy was a fast rider. We'd occasionally catch a glimpse of a yellow rain suit or the flash of a white helmet through the trees as they ascended the mountain. It was exhilarating to watch them fly through the tight gravel turns. We trailed them over the pass, stopped for coffee in Buena Vista at the bottom of mountain, then parted company and promised to write. As we drove away we did not realize a seed had been planted..
FOUR YEARS LATER, WINTER, 1977:
During a Christmas visit with Judy’s mom, the subject of the mountains came up -- the seed began to sprout. Upon returning to our home which by now had been relocated to Topeka in the northeastern part of the state of Kansas (and a long way from the mountains), we made a decision that come next summer we were gonna cross Cottonwood Pass again -- only this time we'd be on two wheels. Little did we know that the adventures were just beginning. The misadventures that follow should be entertaining not only to motorcyclists, but to innocent men and women as well. Hang on tight, folks! It’s a fast ride.
We were living in Western Kansas then. We were only four hours away from the cool high reaches of the Colorado mountains. We had both worked hard for a long time and were ready to get away from it all.
The second day out we reached Taylor Reservoir late in the afternoon. We camped in those days and we were looking for a suitable site when we spotted a place on the side of the mountain that we liked. Since another camper saw it at the same time, Miss Judy leaped out of the Jeep and did a sub ten second 100 yard dash to secure the place for us. We set up camp, fixed a good supper over an open fire and met our neighbors who would become good friends.
They had wondered how our little Jeep could walk away from their big Ford pickup on the steep grades. Their amazement was explained when they realized that under the hood of the little Jeep was a l967 Chevrolet 327 engine with hot rod heads, 4 barrel carb, dual glass packs and all that stuff. Linked to a very low geared rear end, it was deadly in the boulevard stoplight wars; even eating up a Pontiac GTO Tri-Power one night down in Texas.
While it had plenty of power to pull the steep mountain grades it unfortunately had gas mileage that was correspondingly low. Of course, we didn't brag about that fact!
Our new friends, Bill and Sue, were from Arlington, Texas. Naturally the universal Texan-to-Texan law was invoked and we spent the next few days agreeing that Texas was indeed a fine place and traveling together. They had pulled a trailer to the mountains also. Their cargo was not gasoline but a new l973 Yamaha RD 350 motorcycle. This was how our interest in motorcycling first began.
Bill and Sue planned to ride across Cottonwood Pass the next morning on the 350 and asked if we would accompany them in case they had problems. Cottonwood Pass was 36 miles of gravel road -- a challenge even on four wheels, let alone two. But this guy was a fast rider. We'd occasionally catch a glimpse of a yellow rain suit or the flash of a white helmet through the trees as they ascended the mountain. It was exhilarating to watch them fly through the tight gravel turns. We trailed them over the pass, stopped for coffee in Buena Vista at the bottom of mountain, then parted company and promised to write. As we drove away we did not realize a seed had been planted..
FOUR YEARS LATER, WINTER, 1977:
During a Christmas visit with Judy’s mom, the subject of the mountains came up -- the seed began to sprout. Upon returning to our home which by now had been relocated to Topeka in the northeastern part of the state of Kansas (and a long way from the mountains), we made a decision that come next summer we were gonna cross Cottonwood Pass again -- only this time we'd be on two wheels. Little did we know that the adventures were just beginning. The misadventures that follow should be entertaining not only to motorcyclists, but to innocent men and women as well. Hang on tight, folks! It’s a fast ride.
Sunday, October 25, 2009
1. Can't Drive Any Faster? Park It!
Nothing beats a fast run through great mountain passes on a good motorcycle. It’s like flying your own personal sized jet. At times though, the extra power and nimble handling can combine with treacherous road conditions and actually work against you. Consider the day we were struggling to cross Red Mountain Pass in Colorado just after a hard rainstorm...
Mudslides were everywhere! Gravel, sand, oil, potholes, and heavy traffic made this a particularly delicate business; especially on the steep downhill side. On this day, we were gingerly feeling our way down a sharp decline when a station wagon began tailgating us. This vehicle was grossly overloaded with camping supplies and numerous screaming kids. The driver was quite agitated at us for slowing him down by the tedious and careful way we had to tiptoe down the mountain. Not wanting to get run over from behind and not being able to let him around on the narrow road, we held our position and continued our slow descent. From time to time I’d tap the brake lights to keep him aware of how close he really was and to try to keep a safe distance between us.
Finally, a long straight stretch of road enabled him to overtake us and get on down the road. As the wagon pulled even with us, it slowed and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window and yelled, “If you can’t drive any faster than that, park it!” You meet the nicest people on a motorcycle.
Later in the day we were really flying up another tall mountain pass. Gone was the morning rain, skies were brilliantly blue, and the track was dry and fast. Perfect riding conditions for a great motorcycle.
Up ahead, on the steep incline, we spot a familiar vehicle. Why, it’s our old friends from the morning side of another mountain! This time, they are at a serious disadvantage with the high altitude and great loss of power.
Overheating badly, smoke and steam surrounded their wagon as they
chugged up the steep hillside. Using the high beam headlight, we tailgated them for a while till they were nervously looking back at us. When we knew for sure they recognized us, Judy and I planned our pass strategically.
As we swung out to pass, we came up to the driver’s window, slowed a bit, and yelled in unison, “If you can’t drive any faster than that, park it!”
Aiee! Our spirits lifted immeasurably as we roared around them and easily zipped on up the mountain, greatly pleased with the whole encounter. As we passed them, we both saw the guilty, sheepish look on the woman’s face. Payback time!
How sweet it is!
Mudslides were everywhere! Gravel, sand, oil, potholes, and heavy traffic made this a particularly delicate business; especially on the steep downhill side. On this day, we were gingerly feeling our way down a sharp decline when a station wagon began tailgating us. This vehicle was grossly overloaded with camping supplies and numerous screaming kids. The driver was quite agitated at us for slowing him down by the tedious and careful way we had to tiptoe down the mountain. Not wanting to get run over from behind and not being able to let him around on the narrow road, we held our position and continued our slow descent. From time to time I’d tap the brake lights to keep him aware of how close he really was and to try to keep a safe distance between us.
Finally, a long straight stretch of road enabled him to overtake us and get on down the road. As the wagon pulled even with us, it slowed and the woman in the passenger seat rolled down the window and yelled, “If you can’t drive any faster than that, park it!” You meet the nicest people on a motorcycle.
Later in the day we were really flying up another tall mountain pass. Gone was the morning rain, skies were brilliantly blue, and the track was dry and fast. Perfect riding conditions for a great motorcycle.
Up ahead, on the steep incline, we spot a familiar vehicle. Why, it’s our old friends from the morning side of another mountain! This time, they are at a serious disadvantage with the high altitude and great loss of power.
Overheating badly, smoke and steam surrounded their wagon as they
chugged up the steep hillside. Using the high beam headlight, we tailgated them for a while till they were nervously looking back at us. When we knew for sure they recognized us, Judy and I planned our pass strategically.
As we swung out to pass, we came up to the driver’s window, slowed a bit, and yelled in unison, “If you can’t drive any faster than that, park it!”
Aiee! Our spirits lifted immeasurably as we roared around them and easily zipped on up the mountain, greatly pleased with the whole encounter. As we passed them, we both saw the guilty, sheepish look on the woman’s face. Payback time!
How sweet it is!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)