The Next Road

This will be a trip to Dayton, OH in just over five weeks. I'm going to (Lord willing) be able to do a jumbo roll with this one, and kill not two, but three birds with one Ninja.

The trip itself is to meet up with more BBO folks at the second rally of the year, known as the Bug Bash (7th annual): bird the first. Ohio is one of the two states bordering the cuff of Michigan's mitten, and since that's one state I've not ridden in, and can't hit easily by itself, I plan to swing up through there on the way to Dayton: bird the second. If you look at a map, you might notice that I've got to go well past Dayton to get to Michigan, so in order to make it really fun, I'm routing the trip up to be an IBA Saddlesore 1000, probably leaving around midnight Thursday/Friday morning, which should get me into Dayton around 6 p.m., in time for a shower, supper and some sleep, before riding on Saturday: bird the third. Sunday will be a day for church and rest (shocker, I know), and Monday I'll head back down to Greenville, maybe taking a scenic route if I can leave early enough. I've not declared my intentions yet on the board for heading to the Bug Bash, because I haven't officially gotten the all clear for the two days of vacation, but I don't think they should be a problem.

The more I think about it, the more I like it. I've got a nice cushion where I can bail on the IBA if I decide I'm not up to finishing the whole route, but can still make Dayton without too much effort. This will get pesky Michigan off my map without too much extra effort, and that IBA has loomed on the horizon for a while. I'd thought about trying for one on July 5, when I'm off work, but I like the extra margin I'll have from attempting it on a Thursday/Friday with a long weekend ahead of it.

Came up with the extra two birds (beyond attending the rally) this afternoon. Not too shabby for thinking on the fly, eh?

The End of the Road (for now...)

I managed to make a decent showing my last morning, getting out of bed before 7 a.m., and having the bike rolled out of the room and ready to go by 7:15. I stopped just down the road from the Bay Inn & Roach Motel Suites (did I say that?) to get gas. My tires were reading 27 and 28 psi, and should reading 30/32, so I decided to top off the tires as well as the tank.

Got ready to leave before having to go into the convenience store one more time to get batteries. Those two last batteries were #17 and #18 for the trip...that camera positively ate batteries for the first half of the trip (probably because the shutter never stayed shut). When I finally was rolling out, it felt like it was about 7:40, and when I checked my cell phone for the time, it was 7:39. Internal clock is keeping good time, I'd say.

First off, I rolled back through downtown and continued on 31 over to Atmore (or Ratmore, as one local boy named it), before heading south into Florida. The downtown of Atmore had some really nice older houses and interesting bungalows that had been nicely restored. Not far out of town, the Florida line came and went, and I headed east on County Road 4 for about 15 miles. To my utter disbelief I managed to see a couple of curves in the roads. Of course, this was in pretty close proximity to Alabama, so I'm thinking the 'Bama vibes helped keep the roads from being as stick straight as they are in the rest of the state.

About 25 miles later and I was back in Alabama, having made a respectable foray into Florida. State highway signs directed me back to I-65 towards Montgomery. Usually, when I'm riding somewhere, unless I've got a very nice cushion of time, I don't stop for a large lunch, but typically will grab something whenever I fill up. Since this was my last day and I'd gotten a decent start, I decided to treat myself at the first Cracker Barrel after Montgomery for a nice brunch. Montgomery is where I-85 begins and exit 11 is where I got off.

My waitress claimed to be OCD and to have had about 4 hours of sleep, so she was a little jittery, to say the least. The French toast was good, although I think it's crappy they've switched to 100% 'All Natural' syrup instead of 100% "Pure Maple Syrup". The labels are deceptively similar, but the tastebuds will not be duped! I called mom to let her know I'd be later than I'd anticipated due to the chow session, filled up with gas and headed off for the last 300 or so miles just after 11.

Did get to see a cool oldie on the road (there were a couple on the trip), but also came across some seriously stupid driving by a guy in a military Humvee who'd apparently lost his convoy. He changed lanes right in front of me, started to speed up to pass the car in the right lane. Slowed down, put his right blinker on, as if to resume his place behind the erstwhile to-be-passed car, and then proceeded to come to almost a complete stop on the interstate before rolling off onto the grassy median on the left of the interstate, where other members of the convoy had stopped. The whole, 'get into the passing lane, slow down, right blinker, near stop and left fade' had me waaaaay under impressed with this guy's decision making skills. Driving skills. Knee jerk reaction skills. Hope he's not that haphazard under fire. I did at least refrain from blaring my horn as I finally was able to get my bike released from near lockdown braking once he got off the interstate. Interstate! Not podunk highway. Not Main Street near the intersection of Elm. Dude! I'm still getting irritated just thinking about it.

But there's always Atlanta! Even on a Saturday, at 2 p.m., the traffic was quite boggy on the south side where 65 was merging in with 20 and 85. It never came to a full stop, and actually the slower sections were short lived. By the time I got through the worst of it, I was pushing 175 miles on my tank. It was hot and I was ready for a break. The Shell station was a little tricky to get to, with a controlled u-turn being in the equation. There was a service station attached to the convenience store (with a pretty 'vette sitting there), and I sat in the waiting area for a few minutes, enjoying a cold bottle of water. The clerk was chatty and told me about a trip he took to Colorado one time. He drove out to Colorado Springs to visit a buddy of his at the Air Force Academy, but said he ended up spending most of his time in the hospital on the visit. Turns out his buddy is about 4'11" (from how high up he held his hand), but apparently has no filter on his mouth and got the stuffing beat out of him in a bar fight. Hence the hospital visit. Okaaay. Time to move on.

I'd been watching my odometer, hoping for 5,000 miles, and it kept looking like it was going to allllmost make it, but not quite, so as an extra bonus, I decided, ala Albuquerque, to take the scenic way back into Greenville and not just slab it. Those last 50 miles on the interstate are mind numbing on the best of days, and the prospect of going past the lakes and mountains energized me for the last leg of the trip.

Once I'd been going on scenic Highway 11 a while, I checked my trip meter for a mental calculation. There was a sign for Table Rock, saying it was 12 miles away, and the last two numbers on the odo were 62, so that would be 74...26 miles to get home from there. Still going to be stinking close!! Once I got up to Table Rock, I glanced at the odo again to see how close the sign had been. Odo now ended with ....62. Huh? I looked. Rode some more. Looked. Rode. Looked. Stinking absolute rawr!! The odometer was locked and I was going to be denied seeing the 5,000 on there. Cotton pickin'!

I wiggled the stem that resets the odometer and saw a quiver in the last number. Watched it, and it started to crawl again (no tenths, so it seemed to take forever for the next mile to pass). A few miles later and...it locked up again. By now I'm making homicidal noises in my helmet. Worthless piece of horse manure! Messed with the stem again and it rolls a little more, but finally stops with the last two numbers at 74, and rolls no more. Grumble, grumble, grumble.

At least that didn't happen on the interstate...that would have been doubly miserable. The trees on the route also helped cool down the last few miles, and I finally pulled into my driveway about 5:50 p.m. Not exhausted. Not tired. Ready for a day of rest on Sunday, but wishing I had somewhere I could ride to on Monday that was a few hundred miles away.

Once I was in the driveway, I tried to spin the stem to reset the trip meter a little more, since I could focus on it, and not worry about driving. The stem would not reset that side any more, so it appears the spring has sprung it's last sproing. The kicker? What I hadn't noticed?? The end odometer was stuck at 3,974. Three thousand, 974. The day before, I'd flipped 4,000 and 4,500. I have proof! I do! I really did!!

At some point, somewhere, somehow, my trip meter managed to go backwards. And it is evil.

(Final notes will probably follow, but I'm still bitter about the trip meter, so that's all for tonight.)

Miles to Go Before I Sleep

My earliest start on the road was this third and final Friday of the trip. In a true act of hospitality, Brad got up early enough to have scrambled up some home raised eggs for all of us to have breakfast before I got on the road by 7:04 a.m. (waaaay before he or Tammy would normally get up). I didn't see the gallon sized salsa container here, but did notice a couple of glass Tabasco jugs on the counter that were probably pretty close to a gallon apiece :)

Loading the bike went really quickly, the tires had kept their air nicely, a couple of squirts on the chain and it was ready to go. I was only a few blocks from I-635 and got back on that shortly, full of fuel from the night before (what a great idea...getting gas, and all). This time I hopped off on Highway 80 toward Terrell, TX and rode that until signs led me to I-20. It was so humid that morning, and the temps weren't warmed up excessively (yet), so it was almost like riding with a swamp cooler blowing on me. I almost got chilly, and decided to enjoy the rare sensation, knowing if I put on a layer to block the wind I would spontaneously melt.

This was a day to get miles behind me. My destination was Bay Minette, Alabama, which was a shade over 600 miles to go. Traffic was moving well, but there were quite a few cops out and about, so nobody got too crazy. I maximized my fuel stops and pretty much ran the bike until it got thirsty, with the first stop in Shreveport, LA, a full 185 miles down the road.

The sign at the top of the exit for the Shell station was evil, because it said to go left one mile for the station. A couple of miles that way was a little independent gas station across from a grocery store, and I just made do with that since I was so low. Didn't stop in, since it looked sketchy, and on my way back to the interstate, saw where the real Shell station was...on the right about two blocks down (should have looked outside the box, I know). I decided to stop in there and make a quick pit stop and get some water, both of which were good decisions. It was around 10:30 a.m. when I got back on the road, ready for the next leg.

Next stop: Vicksburg, MS, 175 miles down the road. The trees were starting to look more like home, growing in close and thick to the highway. Some of the bayous I passed along the interstate looked really cool...dark green and full of secrets. Just past the state line, over a hug bridge spanning the Mississippi river, is Vicksburg, and I stopped at exit 10, filling up the bike and then pulling up to the convenience store for a break.

The bathroom had lots of posted information about how the employees had to wash their hands, blah, blah, blah, and someone had written on the sheet, "What about someone cleaning the sink?", and that was a very well expressed thought. The sink was lined with a slimy brown layer of dirt that just screamed for some Comet or Mr. Clean or just hot water and elbow grease! Ugh. On a happier note, I bought an extra large ice cream sandwich and sat out on the curb by the bike to enjoy it, as well as enjoy the break from riding. I debugged my face shield for the umpteenth time and got back on the bike for one more big push, and the heat and humidity were starting to make things not as fun as they'd been.

About 45 miles down the road, I got off Interstate 20 in Jackson, MS, and started a tortuous 85 miles of four lane state highway 49 that seemed to go through every little burg with stop lights sprinkled at regular intervals. At least I got to ride through a couple of rain showers, which helped cool the ride off a little bit.

Finally, at Hattiesburg, I got onto Highway 98 E, which took me over towards Mobile. About 35 miles north of Mobile, I stopped for one last fueling for the day and to make some calls and find out what my plans were for the night. The original plan was for me to meet with some branch folks for supper, since I couldn't possibly make it to town before they closed for the day.

Weeeell, when it came down to brass tacks, the manager had plans for his wife's birthday, another guy 'lived too far away' to have to come back in town, one of my drivers had gotten left off the 'notification' list, and my buddy Shannon had to go home and feed some animals and water the garden before doing anything. Rer. It was 4:30 when I finally got ahold of Shannon to find out there really weren't any plans for that night, but she still wanted to be able to meet, so I told her I'd call her once I got settled in to a hotel and we'd figure it out from there. Bummer, but at least part of it was being salvaged.

I rode on down into Mobile and picked up Interstate 65 north, glad I was heading that way and not south, where all kinds of cars were backed up, waiting to turn. Going across 65, you cross over this area of water and swamp land that has the interstate running along on stilts for nearly 12 miles, crossing the Mobile River, Little Lizard Creek, Middle River, Miflin Lake and Tensaw River. Pretty dang cool.


Not long after getting back onto solid ground, I saw the turnoff for Bay Minette, and started down my last county road for the day. Once in town, I circled around the back of the courthouse, following Highway 31 through downtown (all 1.5 blocks) and around to a hotel that Shannon had mentioned: The Bay Inn & Suites. It appears the Bay Inn & Suites has seen better days. However, it was 6 p.m., I was ready to be done for the night, and there weren't many other options. The other two places I passed didn't even look like mom and pop motels...they were more crazy uncle eddie motels. Best to just keep on moving away from them.

While checking in, the girl at the front desk apologized for how long it took, because their system was down, since it had been hit by lightning. I was curious, and asked how long ago it had been hit, and she had to think for a minute. A week ago. Apparently they don't have enough visitors for management to try to get things back up and running efficiently any time soon.

I walked into my non smoking room, only to promptly walk back out and down to the front desk, past the closed lounge and out of order snack machine to ask for another room, since the one I'd just entered had reeked of smoke. Apparently they don't have Henry policing their non-smoking rooms.

She switched my card for a room two doors down, and upon entry, that one didn't smell like smoke. Just mildew. Figuring that was inevitable in a place with 76% humidity, I went ahead and got my luggage off the bike. Something in the bathroom floor creaked when you sat on the toilet, and there was a visiting hair in the shower, but again, my options elsewhere in town were slim to none. After a quick shower, and cranking the poor a/c up as high as it would wobble, I called Shannon back around 7 p.m. The upshot of it was, she and her husband came back into town to say hey at the hotel, and brought some Taco Bell with them :) They stayed and visited for almost two hours, and it was nice to have the company.

Before they left, Caleb helped me roll my bike into the room for the night. When I got there, the bike was the only thing in the parking lot, and by the time Shannon and Caleb got there, there were a total of three things in the parking lot. After they left, there were only two, and I had Mr. Crunchy as company by the foot of the bed.

Before hitting the hay, I went ahead and plotted my route for the next day, adding a quick little dip into Florida since I was that close, and could check that off my 'states ridden in' map. Total miles for the following day were going to be close to 500, and I was wondering if my trip total would end up being 5,000 miles or not. While I was in Louisiana, earlier, I'd passed 4,000 miles, and shortly before starting the bridges past Mobile, I'd passed 4,500 miles. I really wanted to hit 5,000, but wasn't sure if I'd quite have enough miles. I figured I could live with 4,981 miles, but really wanted the 5. Time would tell.

And the Adventures Continue...

Three days are left in the trip. It doesn't seem possible that the end can be that near, but it also doesn't seem possible that I've been gone nearly two weeks and 3500 miles on the road.

Thursday morning, I did not get up early enough to say goodbye to Alan, but when I did get up, Mary Lee not only gave me choices of what I could have for breakfast, but also asked when I wanted to eat. Talk about spoiled! Being in the Lone Star state, I opted for breakfast burritos and went back to my room to get the last stuff packed up. At 8:30, Mary Lee, Morgan and I fixed our fresh breakfast burritos with eggs, bacon, cheese and salsa, and this was the first time in my life I'd seen salsa sold by the gallon! It was in a big plastic container, and there was a spoon provided to scoop out what you needed. Those people in Texas are serious about their salsa! (And don't even get New Mexicans started about their chilies..)

After breakfast, I went outside for the first time to see how the oil leak progressed, and when I went through the back doorway, I had a rather nostalgic blast. of. humidity. I hadn't experienced anything like that since Oklahoma, 10 days prior. Even though it felt like home, I wasn't all that anxious to get back into it. Go figure.

At any rate, the leak was still contained to about four drops of oil on the cement, and when I put the bike on the centerstand, it needed about another pint to bring it up to the top of the sight glass. Jax came outside to romp around with the outside dog, Harley, and the cat looked upon everything from the roof of the car.

The night before, talking about my route to the Dallas branch, Alan suggested I take Highway 67 all the way to Interstate 20, then 620 to Plano Road, turn right and the branch is down on the right. I had him write out these directions on a piece of paper so I'd have a token set of directions on my tankbag for the day. Seemed simple enough, and since he'd been to the branch, I trusted his directions. Mmm hmm. That's gonna be rich later on!

After talking with Mary Lee some more (she's the rare find of a public school teacher who is happy with her job, class size, principal, school district, etc.), I finally was ready to head out around 9:30. I'd been a little leery of getting back to Highway 67, since Alan had gone across about 17 different farm to market roads the night before to get to his house, but he and Mary Lee assured me I could just take the road by their house and in just over 2 miles it would intersect with 67. There were two roads by their house, one running alongside the property, but veering toward the front, and then an actual road across the front of the house that was gravel. Both had pointed the way the road went to 67, and the pointing (from inside the house) could really have applied to either road, and since Alan mentioned he sometimes took the gravel road in to work, I took the gravel road.

The road started out very well behaved with small gravel and a hard packed road, and I was bopping along between 30 and 35 mph. It was a beautiful morning, I was well fed, well rested and ready for a good day's ride. What I was not expecting was the road to end in a T in front of me, with a 90 degree turn to the right or to the left being my only option. Once I realized there was a wall of trees in front of me, and it was approaching rapidly, I started scrubbing speed gently, not wanting to brake suddenly on the gravel.

The only problem with braking gently on gravel is that you really don't slow down. At all. Since I was continuing to sail blithely along to the stand of trees, I grabbed more front brake, and all of the sudden it got messy. The happy little gravel on the road was replaced by by fist-sized rocks, and the bike started pitching left and right. I've heard of people being able to save their bikes from a slide by putting their feet down, but I'd never done it before. Now was the time. Both feet, both sides, I was full on dirt biking on the Ninja, and twice I remember it jinking to the side so strongly, I was sure it was going to go over, but both times I managed to save it. After an eternity (once again, measured in seconds), I found myself standing still on the upright bike, the engine dead, and the only sound in the sudden silence was my heavy breathing. My left thumb had still been giving me grief since Monday, and this did nothing to help the situation.

I had to sit there a minute and recover from just a sense of physical exhaustion from having fought the bike and won, and hoped no one would round the corner beside me, since I was sitting in pretty much the middle of the road. No one came, and I was able to get the bike started again and roll forward on the gravel, heading left at the T to what I figured would be the direction I needed. Once rolling again, I thought of how close that had been, what would probably have done some pretty ugly stuff to the bike (not to mention me), and was again thankful for God's providence. I laughed, thanking Him for providing me with a guardian angel who probably needed combat pay! After it was over, I thought, 'Ok, that's done. I wonder what else will happen today?' Little did I know.

Probably a mile or so later, the gravel road crossed over some railroad tracks (that was fun!) and brought me back to Highway 67. The next little town was Rowena, which has the claim to fame of being the hometown of Bonnie of Bonnie & Clyde fame. A few more miles, and I went through Ballinger, TX, where I saw what has to be one of the smallest Walmarts in the galaxy. I was so impressed, I even pulled off the highway so I could get a picture. Ballinger isn't too big, with a population not much more than 4,000, and before long, I'd gone through their historic downtown and was headed northeast to Dallas. A few miles out of town, cresting one of the rolling hills, I saw where a cop had pulled over a car, and I glanced at my speedo. I was going a leisurely 71 mph (in a 70 mph zone), but I felt for the guy as I rode past.

Once I crested that hill and started up the next, the bike started acting sickeningly familiar. It began losing power and surging, doing just what it had done in Colorado, and my first thought was, "It wasn't the altitude that did it." I pulled in the clutch and let the bike coast to a stop on the shoulder, since the engine had already died. I put the kickstand down and got off the bike, going around to check the vent tubes, since I'd seen some crud near the end of them when I was in Lubbock. Both tubes were clear, so I walked back around to take my tank bag off and open the fuel tank to make sure there wasn't a vapor lock.

There was no whoosh when I opened the door to the tank, and when I glanced down in the opening, I had one of those, "Oh no! You've GOT to be kidding me!!" moments, when I saw the bottom metal of the gas tank that had.no.fuel. I checked my trip meter, and it had been 195 miles since my last fillup, and I'd just run into my reserve fuel. I'd meant to fill up in Ballinger, but the whole 'Gravel Road of Maim' had pre-empted thoughts of fueling.

I laughed ruefully, whining "Does Not Waaaannnt!!" (inside joke from the Potato Rally). I really did not want to backtrack to Ballinger for gas, so I decided to continue going northeast on 67 (sans map, remember), hoping the next town would be in range of the .6 gallons of reserve fuel the bike had. After five miles, I saw a water tower ahead, the sure sign of a town, and breathed a sigh of relief. The relief was short-lived however, when I realized this was a town that didn't boast anything as nice as a gas station (turns out to be an unincorporated community with 127 residents). Rawr!

On the far side of town (like four blocks down the way), I saw a post office, so I pulled in there to get some information. I asked the lady behind the desk where the nearest gas station was, and she asked which direction I was traveling. I told her I was heading opposite Ballinger, and she said the next town, Valera, didn't have gas either, and the nearest would be in Coleman, which was 15 miles away. The only other gas would be back in Ballinger, which was 16 miles away.

I'd come 5 miles already on reserve, and in theory, I should have about 30 miles' worth of fuel, but I'd never tested it fully to know the absolute range. Going another 15 or 16 miles was really pushing me outside of a comfort zone, and for once I didn't want to risk it. Guessing everyone knew everyone in that community, I told her I didn't know if I had enough to get to the next station, and wondered if she might know anyone nearby who would have a spare gallon of gas. She thought half a second and told me to wait while she made a call. Whew!

I could hear her talking to Bob on the phone (Hello, Bob? This is Connie, at the post office. Yeah...Connie-Connie...), and by the end of the conversation, I could tell her hunch had been correct. She walked outside the post office with me to point the way down to the gray house past the brick building, and told me to pull in the driveway to the back of the house and Bob would be waiting, and that he was a nice old guy :) I gave her a hug before I left, navigated the gravel (ugh) parking lot of the post office and headed back the eighth mile to Bob's house, going down the driveway and meeting my fuel provider. He was probably in his 60s, lived alone with three cats, and his daughter's name is also Krystn (although I'm sure it's not spelled that way).

He was about to show me the miniature horses that his neighbor lady raised, but they weren't in the field, so before I left, with 2 gallons of gas in my thirsty tank, he made sure I didn't need anything else before sending me on my way. I thanked him for being willing to help me out, and he said it wasn't the first time someone had come through there needing gas (sounds like he could set up business!). He told me to be careful and wished me a safe trip, and I was back on the road within 20 minutes of first stopping at the post office. Wow! What next?? Bring it on!

I passed the turnoff for Coleman about 12 miles down the road, but didn't want to get off 67, so I kept going to wherever the next gas station would be, since I now had a large cushion of mileage in the tank. Finally, 25 miles after leaving Talpa, I saw a Fina station on the outskirts of Bangs, TX, and I was more than happy to stop and fill up the tank. Delighted, in fact!

Things continued fairly well from there on through Brownwood and Early, although Early is where I first started feeling the heat of the day. It had been overcast and pretty comfortable up to that point, but somebody turned up the thermostat there. It was a little before noon when I went through there, and I passed a BBQ place in Brownwood that smelled lovely, but I had no desire for food, since I was still full from that morning's breakfast burrito. I did pass a movie theater marquis that was kind of funny. It just listed (vertically) Killers, Splice, Greek, Marmaduke. You can have a field day with a list like that. I was a little jealous of the drive in theaters that are still operating out in Texas. I mean, as lame a movie as it sounded, getting to see Clash of the Titans on a 40 foot screen outdoors would probably still be pretty cool.

Once in Commanche, Highway 67 did a little bit of a two step, so I had to keep an eye on the signs. Next burg was Dublin, TX, also known as Dr. Pepper, TX, since that was its birthplace. I didn't see any 'turn here for the Dr.Pepper museum!' signs, so I just cruised on through the downtown and kept going. They do still have neighborhood pharmacists that deliver prescriptions, though.

The biggest town of the day was next, which was Stephenville, 15 miles down the road. Again, 67 veered to the northeast, and I followed the signs. Once out of Stephenville, I started wanting to look at a map (making sure I hadn't missed I-20 in all of my meanderings), and the next town of any size, where I'd also need fuel, was Cleburne, TX, 50 miles down the road. Highway 67 is really a pretty nice road; two lanes going through mesquite tree groves, winding through bluffs and route through neat little hamlets. About five miles from Glen Rose, and 25 miles outside of Stephenville, though, the traffic in front of me slowed and stopped. It inched forward slowly, and then a line of cars started coming down the road from up the way, going the opposite direction, making it seem like there might be construction ahead, and they were alternating lines of passage. One car stopped and the driver was talking to someone in line ahead of me, and the other vehicles started going around her.

One of the trucks that passed her had his window down, and when he went past me on the bike, he called out for us to turn around, that the road was closed. The chatty car lady followed behind him, and was shaking her head in a doleful manner. That was enough to convince me, and I didn't wait to inch forward any more, but made a u-turn, heading back down Highway 67. I didn't have any map, but figured some of those having to re-route would either know the area, know how to re-route, or have a GPS girlfriend to recalculate their route, and I just had to figure out which one to follow.

Sure enough, about a mile back the way we'd come, two cars turned right on County Road 196, and I decided to follow them. Six other cars followed behind me, so if the first guy didn't know the way around, at least there would be company when we got lost. County Road 196 turned right onto County Road 1014, which intersected with Farm to Market Road 205, which intersected back with Highway 67 on the far side of whatever it was that blocked the road. The nice thing was that all thee of those roads had some super nice curves in them :) Too bad the slowpoke hauling the motor home that we caught up with couldn't figure out how to go faster than about 27 mph. I finally found online later that a tractor trailer hauling bags of lime had overturned in the road, which is why they had it blocked. Alrighty then...that was my third curveball of the day, and I was still sailing fine!

On to Cleburne, and road construction was a pain in the wazoo. They also didn't have any gas stations on the road, but only available off exits and out of sight, so I kept plugging on until I was just outside of Midlothian, TX, and about an hour outside of Dallas. I needed a break at this point, so I filled up the bike (and had some more starter issues show up - wouldn't start while on the centerstand, but would once the bike was on the tires), and went inside the station to get lunch at the Subway counter. It was right around 1 p.m., so I had time to sit and enjoy the a/c and decompress for a bit.

Before leaving, I called a buddy from the branch who was on vacation to work at a tractor show, and he started heading back towards Dallas from Terrell, TX, so I could get a chance to say hey when I was at the branch. The sky started looking like rain, but I didn't care. Traffic began to pick up, as did the local fuzz patrols, and I was on I-20 heading east shortly, the first time on an interstate all day. My next road to look for (on the directions) was I-620. There are about 73 different interstates and highways that run in, through, around and near Dallas, and after several miles, I finally saw a sign for I-635, so I figured I-620 would be soon, right?

Something didn't seem right, though, because once I passed that interchange, it looked like I was heading back out into the country. I passed an exit, and it was definitely rural, and before the next exit, I decided to turn back around, because I was NOT going in the right direction. I'd thought there might be two 600 loops going around Dallas, but decided there was only one, and figured Alan must have been smoking crack when he told me 620. (Later, he tried to blame it on the margarita. Nah!)

Seven miles after turning back, I was again at the I-635 interchange, and I hopped on. The Plano Road exit showed up after a few miles, to my satisfaction, and I exited, turned right, and made my way to the branch, a few blocks down the road. I parked next to the other bike at the branch (a '95 HD Dyna Wide Glide), which also belonged to that night's host. I walked in the warehouse, glancing through windows and saw Brad (the bike's owner) and entered into air conditioning and into a bit of a hero(ine's) welcome, with the guys asking all kinds of questions about the trip, and the branch manager Robin stopping by to shake his head at my exploits :) I drank one bottle of water and then started on another, telling stories of the road, and hearing about the trip that three of them were leaving on the next day.

After a while, folks started thinning out, heading home for the night, and I wandered around the office some, looking in the showroom and reading some of the articles on William Cameron, who'd founded that company before it was bought by Guardian. When I was walking back where Brad was finishing up paperwork, I heard a familiar drawl, and went back to meet John Boy, who'd made his way back from setting up fencing at the tractor show. He's a mechanical magician, and can tear down and rebuild anything that runs, used to run or ever thought about running. At one point, I'd thought about taking my old truck out to him before to have him rebuild the transmission and fix whatever else ailed it, and there are days I still wish I'd done that (I miss my old Chevy).

John's brother had recently hit a bonanza on buying a bunch of old motors for a song, and had hauled half of them up from Corpus Christi for John, arriving at the branch about the time I was there, so I got to go see some of the treasures (which were pretty cool actually). They were marine motors which had been used to haul up anchor ropes or to turn propellers. His brother had even scored some old brass screws (propellers) for $1 apiece, and the lightest one (solid brass) probably weighed 16 pounds. Some of the motors were worth $1,500 to $2,000 apiece, and John's brother had bought the lot of 21 or 22 motors for $1000, total. Not a bad return on investment, if you ask me.

Also at the branch were some of John 's toys, which are all painted in John Deere green :) His son, who also works there, said he owns stock in the yellow and green paint colors, and I believe it!. His current restore/rebuild is a tractor from the 40s that reminds him of one the family had when he was a kid (not a JD, though). I once asked him how many tractors he owned, and I think it was somewhere in the neighborhood of 22 or 23. His wife doesn't have to be jealous of the 'other woman', although she does have to be willing to share him with the 'other tractor!'

It was really neat getting to meet John in person after talking on the phone with him from Greenville on occasion, and we all talked a while before shutting up the branch, and Brad and I headed off to his house, stopping to fill up with gas on the way. Once at the house, I met Tammy, his wife, and Bella, the timid whippet. Although Brad told me there was a Garland city ordinance of water rationing between the hours of midnight and 11:00 p.m., I was a rebel and showered, thumbing my nose at the city ordinance! Of course, the fact that he's known for making up ridiculous stories had something to do with my nose-thumbing, too.

After being clean and freshly clothed, the question of food came up, and we ended up going to Mariano's, which is the home of the original frozen margarita machine (the first one is now at the Smithsonian). Tammy raved about both their food and their margaritas, so I splurged and got both :) I originally was going to order the little short drink, but our saleslady who took the order convinced me to get the next size since it was twice the drink with a higher quality tequila for less than twice the price.

That margarita will undoubtedly remain the best margarita of my life!

Zow. It had a kick like a mule, so I could really feel it when I was just eating chips and salsa. I took about three sips and then switched to water until my food arrived, and then got a couple more swigs down before I decided I was done. I was feeling a mild to medium buzz and I'd only had a third of the 12 ounce glass. Since I didn't want to fall on my face, I decided that was all I could drink, and Tammy had a sip of it before Brad tossed the rest back in about four gulps. He's obviously got a higher tolerance than I for tequila since he remained coherent for the rest of the night :)

After supper, we stopped off at the karate school where Brad had earned his black belt a while back and talked with the owner Shayne, who's also his neighbor and friend. We finally got back to the house 9ish, and I started putting together an entry on BBO for my recent adventures. After about 30 minutes of crafting a masterpiece of an entry, something glitched, and I lost the entire post, which really griped me! I had to settle on a Cliff's Notes version, and let folks know I was in Dallas safely.

I had to get on the road early in the morning (wanted to be moving by 7 a.m.) since I was aiming for a 600+ mile day to get me to Bay Minette, AL, so I hit the sack a little before 11. Bella stopped in my room to curl up on some blankets on a couch, and I was soon sawing logs, with my alarm clock set for 6:15 a.m.

The Woes of West Texas

Wednesday turned out to be full of....stuff. It started out well enough, even though I'd not gone to bed until midnight, working on the blog, I got up in time to say farewell to Mike and to chat some more with Beth. I was not rushed in the least, so I puttered about here and there, checking email, writing out directions to my next two destinations, cooking up a huge breakfast.

To my relief, there was no oil on the paper towel under the bike, so the leak hadn't continued. I'd checked earlier, and there was a bike place in Lubbock, another one in Odessa and in San Angelo, as well, so I had places I could stop for oil if I decided I was low enough to add any. Finally, after a leisurely beginning, I rolled the bike out of the garage and put it on its centerstand in the driveway to lube the chain and check the tire pressure. I glanced at the sight glass again, but....wait a minute! That puppy is showing now down half way instead of just a third. Yikes! I'm not comfortable with riding with the oil that low, so I decided I would have to find the bike store in town before leaving. Their address was on Loop 289, which was just a block or two away from Mike and Beth's house, so I first headed down the road a couple of miles to find it, based on some comments Beth had made the night before.

After a fruitless recon, I pulled over into a Sprint store parking lot, got the bike store's number from information and called them to get directions. They were about another three miles up the road, and I was able to get there within about 8 minutes. I wasn't sure of the rate at which the bike was using the oil, so I went ahead and bought two quarts to carry, and went back to the parking lot to top off the bike. I put the bike on the centerstand and saw that the sight glass was now...2/3 full. Apparently, the driveway at Mike and Beth's leaned a bit, which tilted the bike enough to give the low reading. Oh well. I put in about a pint of oil until it was up near the top of the sight glass again, and called it good. My newly slimmed down bike had plenty of room for the extra two quarts (love those bungee nets!), and I headed back out on the road.

At this point, Googlemaps failed me. To get out of town, it told me to get onto Loop 289 E and continue onto Loop 289 W. Texas is big on frontage roads where people merge on and off alongside the interstate, and in Lubbock, the far left lane of the one-way frontage roads frequently becomes a little turnaround loop that will swing you under a bridge, and let you hop onto the frontage road that is on the opposite side of the interstate and going the opposite direction.

Now, granted, I guess I threw in some extra interpretation when it gave it's little 'go east, continue to west' blurb, and I got onto the west bound 289 by taking the little turnaround lane. I got snookered into one wrong highway and had to hop back onto the frontage road, go to the next turnaround and then do a couple more to get back to 289 W where I'd been. Kept going on 289 W, and then it turned into a construction area, and everyone was dumped back onto the frontage road again. My internal compass is not happy with the direction I'm going, and I'm not seeing any signs for the supposed highway I need. After about 10 miles, I decide to go the other direction, because the sun is overhead and on my right, which means I'm riding NORTH, and I know I'd have to circumnavigate the globe to get to Odessa and San Angelo if I was going north.

Once back on 289 E, I thought maybe their whole 'continue onto 289 W' might have meant where the loop might have turned in its circle and began heading the other direction. They usually stick in north and south in there before you can go from east to west, though. When I finally got waaay back down to where I'd started and went another three miles, I saw the exit I needed. Right as I pulled off the loop to the exit for the frontage road going to Highway 87 and Tahoka, I looked at the sign for the loop I was leaving, and it still said 289 E. Rawr! By this time it was past 11 a.m., and my schedule was looking a little tight, since I hadn't planned on wasting that extra hour at the bike shop and on loop de loops.

After I topped off with gas right at the frontage road corner, I started south, doing mental math for my arrival time in Odessa. It was another 80 miles or so to Odessa, according to Liar Pig Maps Inc., and I had a couple of small towns to go through on the way, so I was going to have to be efficient with my time.

It's easy to be efficient with time on the back roads of West Texas. Sight lines are clear, hills and curves are minimal. Interest is nil. I think at one point I might have asked myself, "Self, why am I going to Odessa?" I'd not told anyone at the branch I was coming by, so no one was expecting me. It was 100 degrees outside (okay, the observed high that day was 99), and I was behind schedule.

When I got to the outskirts of town, I topped off the tank (poorer than normal mpg, strangely enough), and proceeded through the barrage of stop lights to get waaay on the far side of town. The LPMI directions were okay this time, and I got to the branch at about 1:25, ready to cool off for a little. The branch there is small, so I was rather obvious when I walked in the front door to an office with two employees. I 'splained who I was, and I think they might have heard I was in the area, but they still couldn't quite hide the, 'Now, why again are you doing this??' looks. I did manage to meet their driver, Gary, who I've talked to much more than the branch folks (Kurtis and Kress). After some water, some air conditioning, a bathroom break, and some chatting, I was needing to get back on the road again. When I left around 2 p.m., I think Kurtis and Kress had decided I was merely eccentric, instead of insane (whew!)

Interstate 20 was just around the bend from the branch, and I had to run on that for 20 miles before getting onto Highway 158. Speed limit on I-20 was 70, and there was a good bit of traffic through there. I passed a few tractors, and saw a couple of dually pickups with 5th wheels pulling gooseneck trailers, one still with a dealer tag on the trailer (expired the next day). When I was a couple of miles out from the exit, I made sure to get into the right lane, and I-20 was banking up and to the left when the exit appeared to the right, sloping downward and angling right to dump onto the ubiquitous frontage road.

I was first in line taking the exit, and as I was rolling off throttle, I looked to the right to make sure the coast was clear, and saw the road was indeed free. The next few seconds happened very intensely, because as I looked ahead in my direction of travel, I saw an approaching car from the left on the frontage road, and my current trajectory would put me right on a collision course with him. I knew it would be foolish to try to out accelerate him to the intersection, so I locked down the bike, front and back brakes. I kept my head up, and started getting that sick feeling when the back wheel started breaking loose and fishtailing on the hot, oil slicked road. I kept fighting to keep my body lined up to counteract the oscillation of the rear, all the while praying I can get the bike stopped and keep from losing control.

The exit ramp was 600 feet long, and I probably saw the oncoming car close to halfway down the ramp. Even at 60 mph, I was traveling 88 feet per second, and those were the longest three and a half seconds of my life, getting the bike to stop. There was a curb near the end of the exit where it dumped you onto the frontage road (not a 'merge' but a definite left turn required to access the road), and I was able to get the bike slowed to a stop about four feet from the curb. Just as I was almost to a stop, one of the pickups I'd passed with the gooseneck trailer came blasting by me on my right, barreling onto the frontage road with no concern for the oncoming car, going about 50 mph, and stirring up quite a breeze as he passed. It was only when I'd fully stopped, that I realized the oncoming car had to yield to traffic that was exiting from I-20, and he proceeded to wait for me while I shifted the bike back to first gear, and crossed over onto the frontage road.

Strangely enough, I didn't have an adrenaline crash after that, getting the shakes, or even feel overwhelmed and weepy (as women sometimes do). I was stunned at how sudden it had been, and soooo thankful that the bike hadn't gone down. The conversation in my helmet went something along the lines of, "wow. Thank you God. (pause) Wow. Oh, thank you God! (short pause) Wow!! Praise God!" and even progressed to some singing :) There were just so many things that could have gone wrong. If the bike had gone down, either in a low side or a high side, with the speed it was going, the bike would have been toast. If the bike had high sided and thrown me off, it would most likely have been into the path of the oncoming dually. Later, I realized if I hadn't unpacked 17 pounds of luggage the day before, I probably would not have been able to keep the bike up with the extra pendulum weight on that back wheel. Wow. I still thank God for his gracious provision on that one. Click here to see a view of the exit, and notice the oily streak that runs all along the road. With 100 degree temps, that was like stopping on a layer of maple syrup. But no pancakes.

Once on Highway 158, that was my final road, later merging onto Highway 87, which would take me in to San Angelo. About 25 miles into that final leg of the trip, I was in the lead of a line of cars, just hunkered down for the ride. My mind was busy with the recent events, it was hot (have I mentioned that yet?), and I had another 90 miles to go. Two oncoming vehicles were almost abreast of me when the second one put on a light show for me. Red and blue are such pretty colors. My first thought was to wonder how fast I'd been going, and the second thought was to wonder what the speed limit was.

I dutifully pulled over and waited for the brown SUV to make a u-turn and come park behind me. One of the first questions asked was whether or not I owned the bike (I think the SC tag was a slight curveball for him), and he then asked for license and registration. At this point I got a little flustered, because it took a minute for me to find my little ziploc baggie with insurance and registration for the bike. He asked where I was coming from and where I was going (I settled for close landmarks like 'Odessa' and 'San Angelo' instead of 'Durango, CO' and 'Greenville, SC'). After gathering my documents, he walked back to his air conditioned vehicle to fill out my performance award while I sat patiently on the bike and proceeded to (hot, right?) melt.

Finally, he returned with a paper for me, and had me sign for its receipt. He cautioned me to be safe out there, I loaded up my paperwork again and proceeded to ride off. I lost count of how many vehicles passed me over the next 90 miles, but I do know I passed one..a Mayflower step-deck moving truck.

A recent post on the BBO website from someone who'd been riding in a poor frame of mind and was ticketed for speeding (on his Honda Rebel 250) had a comment that had stuck in my mind. In this instance, it came back again, to the effect that getting flagged for speeding really won't help you get to your final destination any faster (or something to that effect, when riding distracted or in a time crunch). How true that was, as cars passed and continued to pass my excessively legal bike, and I was again doing the math, recalculating for the lost time on the shoulder of that county road, figuring when I would arrive at the branch. Once I got to San Angelo, it was surface street surfing again until W Avenue L, where I had to turn left, and (according to LPMI) go three blocks, turn right and destination would be on the left. Except, as was a fitting end to the day, I actually needed to turn left after three blocks, not right.

Once I remedied that, I pulled up to the branch at 4:35, where a few drivers were hanging out at a picnic table (probably wondering if I was actually going to show). Got to meet a few of the regulars, and then go inside to the lovely a/c and meet Alan, who was the branch manager and my host for that night. There was some general breeze shooting with him and another guy wrapping it up in the office (they normally close at 4:30) and right at 5:00, I got back on the bike to follow Alan home.

Dude. He lives in the sticks! We had to get on Highway 67 and head out of town about 20 miles before cutting across on some county roads and farm to market roads, going through shorn wheat fields, riding over some gravel, and finally ending up at his house 30 minutes after we left town. His wife, Mary Lee, came out to meet me, and Alan helped me haul luggage in to the bedroom I would have for the night.

After a shower and change of clothes, I felt civilized again, and ready to be with people! We had some pre-supper margaritas (yum!) and after their youngest daughter Morgan got home, sat down to a meal of grilled steaks (just cut you off a piece), mashed potatoes, rolls and cucumbers in vinegar. Dessert was strawberry shortcake, and I was a happy puppy at the end.

Speaking of happy puppies, there was yet another miniature daschund at this house, not the aged lady from the night before, but a peppy pup named Jacks (Jax?). I brought my netbook out to the living room while some tv was on, and worked on a blog entry until I finally went to bed, sometime around 11 p.m. Dallas was on the itinerary for the next day, only 270 miles and about 5 hours (taking the country roads). That would allow for another unhurried morning, though I decided not to be quite as lax about leaving there, time-wise, as I'd been that morning. Going to sleep, I decided it was a good day to be alive :)

The Joys of West Texas!

Tuesday morning I wanted to get to our branch in Albuquerque early so I'd end up in Lubbock at a decent hour (before the branch closed). Everyone in New Mexico moaned and groaned about West Texas when they heard my route, and everyone in West Texas was foreboding about the ride in New Mexico, so either way, I was hosed, it sounded like.

Across the street from the 'Don't Smoke Here' motel was a Village Inn, and I popped over there around 7 a.m. for breakfast, one of about three patrons, and got some cheese blintzes topped with strawberries. I'd parked on the east side of the restaurant, and sat by the windows on that side to keep an eye on my fully packed bike. And proceeded to melt from the sun's rays blazing through, even at that hour. Within 25 minutes, I was exceedingly ready to leave and get on the road.

It turned out the branch was only about 4 miles from the hotel and pretty easy to find. I pulled into the yard, walked back into the break room, asking for Scott (#1 dispatcher??). He was there, so we got to jaw jacking some, and I got a tour of the facility in the ubiquitous electric golf cart that it seems each branch is equipped with. After a while, I walked up front to the office and went to see the branch and district manager, Gary, who proceeded to quiz me about my trip so far. Being the shy and reticent person I am, I talked for the next 30 minutes solid, giving him all the details of the adventure so far.

Eventually, I started getting ready to go, and called my next stop to let them know I'd be getting on the road around 9. Gary and Scott walked out to see the bike (and I got to honk the horn for them, heh, heh...), and I commented to Gary that when I got to Lubbock or San Angelo, I planned on sending some of my luggage back home in a box. In his usual cut-to-the-chase manager, Gary told me to go ahead and send it from Albuquerque...why wait? Scott hunted up a couple of boxes (turns out I needed the bigger one) and I jettisoned all of my cold weather gear: jeans, long underwear, heated vest, thick socks, Birkenstock clogs, fuzzy slippers (yes), long sleeved t-shirt, black textile riding jacket, luggage rain covers and quilted liners for my riding pants. When we weighed the box, it was a whopping 17 pounds of gear and luggage I was losing, and the bike looked positively trim! I got a picture of my bike with Scott's car, and my estimated departure was pushed to 9:20ish, but it was worth the extra bit to get that off the bike. Upon reflection the next day, that loss of 17 pounds probably helped save my life...but more on that later :)

Not far from the branch was a gas station to top off, and from there I got onto interstate 25 south for a short hop before heading east on interstate 40. For the next 120 miles, you come down out of the mountains (and cooler air) into the flat and wide open space that becomes west Texas. There was one other bike going east, sticking to the passing lane for a few miles until my polite shadowing of him encouraged him to move over to let me pass. Once I was on the way, he seemed to keep up just fine. When I finally pulled off past Santa Rosa for gas, he followed shortly. The next stretch was just a straight shot over to Lubbock, so I got a good break in at the gas station, using the facilities and enjoying an ice cream drumstick in the parking lot. Mr. Harley Touring guy had parked next to me, taking a break as well. When he was getting himself situated to take off again, he asked how long I'd been on the road. He was heading off to Tennessee (I guess taking 40 all the way) and wished me a safe ride.

Once out of the gas station, I was on US 84, which would take me through Fort Sumner, NM, through Clovis, NM, cross over the tracks into Texas, and then on to Lubbock. The roads were straight and long. (understatement alert!!) If there ever was a swerve or veer in the road, it was announced with large reflective arrows which were rather excessive, but I guess when your brain is about to be lulled into a coma from highway hypnosis, you need all the extra help you can get! As I got closer to Fort Sumner, I saw signs for the grave of Billy the Kid. You know, when you're out in West Texas once, it's most likely going to be the last time (if you have anything to say about it), so I went ahead and took the little detour out to the grave, since this would be the last time I was ever in the area.

Even in death, he's behind bars, mainly because the grave stone had been stolen so many times. Behind the wrought iron enclosure was a blooming cactus that was absolutely beautiful. I took my pictures, sweated a few gallons, read the sign and then got back on the road. One of the next burgs I rode through was Taiban, and on the east end of town (village/burg/settlement) was an old building that had either been a church or a school. There was a tower on the house for a bell, but the top of the tower and the bell was gone. A gravel road led back to it, and I had a fleeting thought to stop and get a picture of the bike with that, but since I'd just taken a little excursion for Billy, I decided not to stop. I still regret not getting that picture. There was something about that building that appealed to me, and since we've already determined I will not ever be going back through there, my one opportunity was squandered. Lesson learned!

Clovis, NM was hot. As in 100 degrees hot. I stopped in town briefly for gas, but lingered not. There's an AFB there, and I wish I'd gotten some pics of the planes on display, but didn't have my camera out in time. Finally, 90 miles later, I started entering the outskirts of Lubbock. The directions routed me in through downtown, with blocks and blocks of stop lights. My left thumb had started to bother me the day before, and since this was the hand that operates the clutch, it was not happy with the constant stopping and starting with the lights.

Finally, I made the last three right turns and ended up in the parking lot of our branch there. Rode over to a patch of shade by the warehouse, took of my helmet and gloves, and walked up to the entrance. A couple of folks knew I was coming, so I got a warm welcome from Kay and Mike (who was my host for the night). I rousted Chad (the manager) out of his office, and he came out to be sociable, and ended up giving me the walkabout tour of the branch. I work with the rolling stock of these branches, so it was cool to get to see the trucks I knew by number, but not by sight :) (Yes, PJ, I am a nerd.)

We circled back around the parking lot, and Chad went over to see the bike. While standing there, he asked if the bike was leaking oil. Probably because there was some fresh oil on the concrete just below the centerstand area on the bike. Not a lot, only about four or five drops, but definitely from the bike. I leaned the bike vertical to check the sight glass, and it looked a little low, but nothing detrimental. I figured I'd keep an eye on it that night and make a determination in the morning if I needed to get some more oil or get it looked at. About 30 minutes after my arrival, I followed Mike across town to his house, where I got to meet Pretzel (their miniature daschund) and then shower away the grime of the day while Mike went for his afternoon jog.

Around 6 p.m., Mike's wife Beth got home, and started working to put together the night's supper, which was chicken spaghetti, salad, rolls and fresh fruit (strawberries and cantaloupe). I was happily drafted to cut up fruit in the kitchen, and we sat down later to a tasty and refreshing supper. While Beth and I sat at the table and talked, Mike decided to go outside and trim the grass around the edges of the fence and patio. After supper was cleaned up, Beth offered the use of their washer and dryer, which was wonderful. I had enough clean clothes for another day, but it was much nicer to be able to pack my bags with 100% clean stuff before going to bed that night.

Since they had wifi, I was able to get a blog entry done that night (probably about five days behind times), and I think I finally turned out the light around midnight. The next day's ride wasn't too long, so I didn't have to be on the road early. Beth made sure I knew where every possible thing for breakfast was located so I could fix myself whatever I had the whim for. Before I went to bed, I put a clean paper towel under the bike in the garage to see how much it might leak overnight, and after that, I decided to enjoy my night of sleep immensely!