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 :)