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 o
n 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 enou
gh, 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 tur
ning 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, a
nd 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 yello
w 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 i
n 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.
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