The Bike is the But

Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Epic Rides' started by dogjaw, Apr 29, 2019.

  1. Konig

    Konig Adventurer

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    I'm a bit slow (what else is new) on the reply but it was great to ride a few twisties with you and CB up to Diablo lake. Happy to hear you're back home safe.

    When you make your way back to the PNW let's do it again!
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  2. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    Hey, bro! I have some pics of you and the missus I need to get to you... of course, most of them don't involve a photobombing by Charlie!

    IMG_20190518_120825_475.jpg
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  3. JB2

    JB2 Dirt Of The Earth

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    dogjaw - Had to smile when I saw the image of Drigg's Mansion. It would be a cool place to live. Good on ya for the trip down 141 and Potash Highway. Two of my favorites for sure.

    Speaking of dropping your bike twice in one trip, just days apart. DAMHIK. And buying a bike mid-trip at Davis' in Montrose. It wasn't me but a guy I was riding with. Either way we done it.

    This whole deal with Trevor and the inmates who are stoking his fires to get back in the wind and following your journey home... it could only happen here on ADV. :thumb
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  4. jdfog2

    jdfog2 Been here awhile

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    Lol. Hey, you thank him and his wife half as well as you thanked me...everyone wins. I just now saw this and thought "Roh ro Shaggy!"

    Guess you figured it out.

    WE ALL thank you.

    Signed "the other JD"
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  5. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    After enjoying the hospitality of the Goose for two days, Charlie and I were itching to hit the road. We headed south out of Montrose, as Telluride was one of the stops on the original trip. I was a bit bummed to find the road back to Bridal Veil Falls blocked by the remains of an avalanche just north of the town limits; video here:



    Nothing doing here, so I headed back though town to seek out a music store that helps promote the Telluride Bluegrass Festival. After dribbling copious amounts of saliva over a $9k acoustic Santa Cruz guitar, we boogied out of town back north to Ridgeway to pick up the Million Dollar Highway.

    If you can catch it on a weekday when the traffic is light, 550 from Ouray south to Silverton is one of the seven wonders of the world. I can't say anything about it that hasn't already been said, and pictures don't begin to do it justice. Hell, even being on it doesn't begin to do it justice, as the road demands so much attention that you dare not take notice of the jaw-dropping scenery; spectacular overlooks, vertical drops with absolutely no guard rails, stony spires soaring into the sky. And waterfalls; in the spring, it's almost like someone had a surplus of a few hundred extra waterfalls, and decided to dump them haphazardly along the roadsides on the Million Dollar Highway.

    A few years back, a buddy of mine from Arkansas quit his job as the manager of a wastewater treatment plant, and took his BMW 1200GS to Silverton to operate a funnel cake shop. Now, if you know Tom, he is the last person on the planet that o would have expected to commit voluntarily to not only dealing with the public daily, but with TOURISTS!, as he's always been the acerbic sort. But he's been very successful; if you're ever in Siverton, stop in and say howdy to the short guy behind the fryolater, and tell him Dogjaw sent ya.

    He was telling me how much snowfall that they had experienced this year, over 160% of the yearly average, and they were continually getting more; Charlie and I had gotten hammered that very afternoon at Red Mountain Pass.

    And avalanches; all around us. was the sign of recent snow slides, trees splintered, low branches snapped off everywhere we looked. If you're planning on riding any of the higher mountain passes this summer, Ophir, Engineer, Imogene, et all, I would try to postpone it until a few weeks later than the usual end of June when the passes usually open, as there is still a buttload of snow up to melt away up in them thar hills.

    Upon leaving town, I saw a sign announcing free tours of a local cannabis grow facility, so I had to check it out. It reminded me of a stop in Paonia a few years before with my son and two other Arkansas hillnecks. An entrepreneurial type wearing a white polo shirt covered with spindly green leaves and driving a black Escalade spotted our out of state tags at a gas stop. He hit us up with a well-rehearsed sales pitch for the virtues of his weed-smoking resort up in the mountains; we had no reason to think he wasn't legit, as he actually had brochures! My buddy, who will remain nameless unless he reads this and decides to chime in, asked him if he had any free samples; when Mr Weedhustler said no, my buddy said "no?!? Well, you're just TALKING then!!"

    The Escalde roared off towards The North Rim of the Black Canyon of the Gunnison; I'm pretty sure that we're not friends anymore.

    We didn't feel like camping in the sub-freezing temperatures at our usual campsite along the road into South Mineral Fork, so we decided to drop a few shekels and get a cabin at Riverside Cabins in Ouray. Pretty dang reasonable with access to showers and a (gasp) hot tub, it's been one of our stopping points since we began going out there. Again, tell him Dogjaw sent ya; he tried to buy my DR off of me a few years back, but instead settled for a WR450 when I wasn't willing to put myself afoot just to assuage his impulsive buying habits.

    It took Charlie mere microseconds to commandeer my sleeping bag that I had thrown on the bed, so I let her have at it and drove back into town to grab me some Thai food; panang curry, number four out if five, six out of 10 on the heatometer scale, por favor.

    Next, Blue Mesa and an unexpected meeting with pre-wreck Trevor. IMG_20190518_121245_115.jpg 20190518112305.JPG tapatalk_1558189841098.jpg tapatalk_1558190383659.jpg 20190513_193409.jpg 20190513_145635.jpg 20190514_095524.jpg IMG_20190518_082416_780.jpg IMG_20190514_232431_507.jpg
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  6. MrKiwi

    MrKiwi Love my Tranny Super Supporter

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    How does Charlie cope with the cold
  7. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    The cold isn't too much of a problem, as I block most of the wind, but cold and wet? Big problem. This is one if the reasons I kept wishing for some protection beyond the Puig screen, and why I would hesitate to take the CB1100 on another cross country trip, because you don't just get wet on s naked bike you get REALLY wet. I kept thinking about an NT700V I once had for a short time, and how it would be the perfect bike for a one-up plus a dog road trip such as this; 200+ range, wind protection, driveshaft, storage, but still relatively light enough to maneuver around in tight places. Not the least bit sexy i admit, but all day long utilitarian.

    The main hazard that a dog experiences while traveling is heat; interstates scare the crap out of me, as you never know when an accident, construction zone, etc, is going to leave you sitting on hot asphalt for long enough to do serious damage to a canine. I'm considering some sort of cover over the Charkstream, but it would have to be almost perfectly horizontal to avoid any wind problems; angle it down towards the back and you'll potentially get lift, angle it up, and it will hit the rider in the back.

    Always considering other options, hit me with any ideas. IMG_20190327_233648_952.jpg
  8. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    Backtracking a bit; every trip Charlie and I take is divided into two parts: the first half is usually about the places, the second half about the people we meet and their stories. This trip was just the opposite.

    After dropping off the sidecar, returning the Uhaul, spending some time with Trevor and Pam, I decided to hit some of the ferries in the Seattle area just to get a feel for the vibe of the place. The first was the Port Townsend ferry; the bikes always move to the front of the line, which was a novel concept in this day when "filtering" in most states is a four letter word.

    There was a chrome-covered Harley in the spot next to mine, with a truly unique helmet resting on the saddle; it was sporting from its sides a set of obviously genuine buffalo horns. Now, as a Honda guy, I was thinking exactly what you probably would have been thinking: chromed out Harley? Buffalo horns? I am so NOT going to like this pretentious douchebag. Of course, he was probably thinking the same thing, who's this guy with a glorified milk crate? With a DOG? on the back of a HONDA? From ARKANSAS?

    Well, I was wrong; the guy turned out to be one of the coolest encounters I had during my 3.5 weeks on the road. He spent the rest of the day showing me some of the better backroads in the area, and then peeled of for the south when I headed north for the Cascades.

    I've been home for a few days, trying to sort out in my head what this thing has been all about when, out of the clear blue sky, Buffalo Hump calls me from Seattle. It turns out that he wants to meet Trevor and get involved in whatever way he can; I've heard this before, but figure it's worth a shot, so I provided him with the necessary contact info, and figured that was that.
    Well, this cat has already contacted Pam to set up a time to meet Trevor, and so the story continues. He actually sent me the following text just minutes ago:

    "Talked to Pam and Trevor asked if we could come visit and he said that would be so nice he would appreciate that so much that we would want to know him man that chokes me up can't wait"

    When will I quit judging on appearances alone? I recently encountered two girls attempting selfies at the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo; pink hair, skin tight leggings, piercings, with a HUSKY! When I offered to take their picture for them, they even HUGGED REAL TIGHT! I know, you're probably thinking what I was thinking, but hey, it's a free country. I could tell that I made them a bit uncomfortable, older guy, offering to take their picture, wearing DAD SHORTS!!!

    When they got home, they found Charlies's blog and contacted me for the photos. It turned out that they were actually sisters, and the more outrageuosly attired of the pair was actually the star musician of a very well known symphony, not just a gypsy vagabond. But even if was exactly as I initially suspected; who was I to judge?
    I would like to be judged on my actions and not just my appearance, why would I not extend the same consideration? I
    hope to think that they saw the tone of the blog and realized that maybe I wasn't just some pervy old guy.

    Then again, I AM from Arkansas.

    Back to the road...



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  9. JB2

    JB2 Dirt Of The Earth

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    Can't do nothing but grin after reading that post. Buffalo Hump. Trevor. Hondas, Harleys and a BMW/sidecar rig. What could go wrong? :D I'm thinking more about what's gonna go right. :thumb
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  10. horseiron1

    horseiron1 Been here awhile

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    :clap:clap:clap
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  11. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    On the first trip west, a huge hailstorm forced me north off of what I thought was Trevor's "Go West Young Man" route. I was bummed, but justified it in my mind as that's what he would have done, improvise and adapt. It was on that ride that I took a quick picture of Blue Mesa from a small pull off area on HWY 50. That picture received many comments, but I never thought much else about it.

    A couple of years later, we were over at Trevor and Pam's apartment in west Little Rock, and Thumpstart was looking at some of Trevor's old pictures on the refrigerator. "Hey dad; isn't this where you stopped?" On an old wrinkled up photo was Trevor in his skinny jeans astride Deedee, the old CB550, parked at the very spot from which I had taken my picture; it appeared that I was on Trevor's trail after all.

    This year, it seemed important to revisit this milestone, so after a night in Ouray, we loaded up and headed back north through Montrose then over to Gunnison to pay our respects. Of course it's still there, although the reservoir levels were way down; although there had been record snowfall this season, most had not yet melted and made it's way into the water supply.

    Another connection made.

    Then and now:

    tapatalk_1558189789111.jpg tapatalk_1558189797478.jpg 20190514_114419.jpg 20190514_114727.jpg 20190514_114910~2.jpg
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  12. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    I left Blue Mesa and headed west towards Gunnison; upon entering town, I saw three naked bikes parked outside of the patio dining area of a roadside restaurant. Thinking that it was some fellow travelers, I circled back, left Charlie at the bike with some canned dog food, and went inside.

    The bikes didn't belong to travelers, but to the hipster dudes working at the dive, and evidently the types that held their choice in bikes a bit more sacrosanct than others.

    Hmmm; the pretentiosness is strong with this one...

    The food was great, the company not so, so I skeddadled back towards 149 and Lake City. Again, I saw thunderclouds forming to the south, but hoped that they would either dissipate or that my road would bend away from their path; if I could only be so lucky. Before I could even stop to get any rain gear from my bags, a squall line blew up in my face, and Charlie registered her distinct disapproval from the back of the Honda.

    And as soon as it came, it was gone. The resulting wet roads caused a rock to come flying from the muddy wheel of a northbound dump truck, striking me hard enough on the right side of my face shield, hard enough to snap my head back. It knocked a good-sized dent into my shield, but I was still appreciative; if the protection hadn't been there, it would have surely cost me an eye, or at least an eye socket.

    We left Lake City and began to climb up into Slumgullion Pass at almost 12000 feet. The snow began to pile up as the temps began to fall, and we soon found ourselves in a winter wonderland, albeit in the first of May.

    As we crossed the summit and began to descend, a large moose stepped from the drifts and stood watching us from the middle of the road. As I learned long ago, gross tonnage equals right of way and we stopped well short of where Bullwinkle was staking his claim and killed the bike to take some pictures from a suitable distance.

    He eventually lost interest, and ambled towards the side of the road and down the side of the mountain,

    ...or so I thought.

    When he disappeared into the trees, I clicked the bike into neutral and rolled silently down the hill to where I thought he had exited the road. I was looking down the ravine to see if I could get a parting shot as he crossed the valley when I realized that he was STANDING. RIGHT. THERE.

    Twenty, thirty feet tops, affixing me with a distinctly moose-y stink eye. I felt like Bill Murray in Ghostbusters when they spotted the goblin:

    "He's standing right here, Ray"

    "He's an ugly little spud, isn't he?"

    "I think he can hear you, Ray"

    I was much less worried about getting slimed than getting stomped into a puddle of slime, as if he charged, there was no way I was going to have time to get the bike started, into gear and gone before big fella squashed me like a grape. Earlier, we had spotted two yearling moose, and Charlie split my eardrums charking her fool head off. I was silently willing to her to keep her yap shut, and for once, she listened, evidently deciding that discretion was the better part of valor. She went from comfortably numb to humbly mum, and I had not an issue one with her decision. If we did get crushed by the large ungulate, we would be included right along with the other selfie-grabbing tourists that just HAVE to get a bit closer to get that perfect picture, but instead get that perfect picture in the obituaries. Although I assure you. I was not my intent to be that close, or close at all, for that matter.

    After an eternity that probably only lasted 30 seconds, he decided that we weren't worth the effort and continued down the mountain and away from two scared travelers.

    "Oh YEAH? Is THAT all you got? Next time bring your MOTHER! 20190514_150744.jpg IMG_20190518_121245_115.jpg 20190518_113232.jpg 20190518112412.JPG
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  13. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    I bailed out of the mountains and down towards Creede, one of the coolest alpine towns in Colorado. North Creek Falls was blowing and going, as was every other waterfall in the area. Charlie was beginning to visibly flag, so we shut her down for the night to prepare for a big day in the morning.

    Next: back to New Mexico to see the nuns. IMG_20190515_101436_568.jpg 20190514_160302.jpg 20190514_190347.jpg IMG_20190514_232431_507.jpg 20190514_160806.jpg 20190514_165344.jpg
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  14. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    A few years back, I was riding across 64 in northern New Mexico when I spotted a monastery sign on the edge of the desert. I figured that if they had a sign, they must want guests, so Charlie and I went to check it out. Although it was a monastery for nuns, not monks as I expected, a grand time was had by all, and we made some life-long friends among the sisters. Since then, I have even taken my wife back out there and delivered some tents that we had in storage, as although there is a guest house on the premises, some of the sisters are from cultures that dont appreciate dogs. This excludes those traveling with pets, obviously; hence the tents for others to use when passing through with Fideaux.

    A picture I would pay a million dollars for, if I had it, is that of the Mother Superior leaping and frolicking around in the sand with Charlie, her black robes flapping in the desert wind like that of a joyous raven.(the nun's, not Charlie's, as she wears no clothes)(as far as clothes go, I'm now referring to Charlie, not the nun; thought I might need to clear that up). But on second thought, I don't need a physical photograph, as the mental image is permanently stuck in my head until the day I die.

    As he never mentioned this monastery in his writings, I never saw any connection of this stop with Trevor's story, just thought it was all my own. It wasn't until a few years later that I found the following in one of Pam's open letters to the drunk driver Nathan Ray:


    "I’ll tell you just one story I used to love hearing Trevor tell. He took a long road trip through the southwest on his beloved Honda CB550 motorcycle he named DeeDee. He was in New Mexico riding a two lane hwy. and took a dirt road just to see where it would go. It led to a Catholic convent. As Trevor parked his bike a nun came out and invited him in. He sat with a group of the sisters in the chapel and sang hymns for a half hour and was then invited to lunch. Then he got back on his bike and went on his way."


    If you ever get a chance, stop in at the Our Lady of the Desert Monastery, somewhere over there in HWY 64 between Grosevnor and Farmington, NM. Great place to spend the night should you need it, and awesome, calming company as well.

    And I'm not even remotely Catholic, but it didn't even seem to matter a whit to them. tapatalk_1558454612356.jpg tapatalk_1558454627650.jpg tapatalk_1558454638518.jpg Screenshot_20190519-111949_Instagram.jpg
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  15. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    The trip that seemed it would never end was drawing to a close. I wanted to see snow one last time before heading back towards the sweltering inferno that is Arkansas in the summer, so I headed back up into Colorado bus Manga Pass.

    Charlie had been flagging for quite some time now; getting her to stay fed and hydrated was quite the chore. Soft dog food, people food, I had been trying everything I could think of since way back in Idaho, but it didn't matter; as soon as I shut the bike down at day's end, she would promptly confiscate the prime sleeping spot and crash like the dead.

    Unless there was snow involved, or another dog, then she would this hidden reserve of energy and cavort around like she had lost her mind. This was the case at Manga Pass. Where the evidence of a cold, wet winter lay everywhere. After cavorting about for the better part of the morning, we said goodbye to the high country and headed south towards the Rio Grande Gorge bridge just west of Taos.

    On the first trip west, I arrived at the bridge to find it's railings festooned with rosaries; not realizing any specific significance, I took one. I found out later that they had been left as part of a ceremony remembering those unhappy souls that had chosen to take their own lives by leaping over the edge towards a happier death in the river far below. As I discovered later, this bridge is a hot spot for suicides and gang-style killings, as well as as popular site to film movies. Natural Born Killers and Terminator III among them.

    I have stopped here so many times since then that the locals plying their wares at the west end of the bridge have come to recognize the idiot from Arkansas that travels with the dog on his bike. It is one of my favorite places on earth, hot, arid, the sharp smell of sagebrush everywhere, the eclectic Earth Ships of the terminally eccentric dotting the desert around the gorge. Then, 800' below the rim, is the Manby hot springs, 105° water separated from the 45° of the Rio by a small rock wall; clothing optional, as this IS New Mexico.

    And in case you're still wondering, I did replace the rosary on a subsequent trip; bad karma was avoided. IMG_20190522_204759_822.jpg IMG_20190520_232942_603.jpg IMG_20190515_180426_313.jpg IMG_20190518_123232_853.jpg 20190518122450.JPG IMG_20190515_175938_218.jpg 002a6d1a2e2bce6e0bbc5358c688f389.jpg IMG_20190406_181545_855.jpg IMG_20190406_181545_861.jpg IMG_20190406_181713_397.jpg
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  16. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    I have a girlfriend out in Eagle’s Nest, New Mexico who I must stop and visit on every trip. Actually, the relationship is a bit lopsided, as the object of my attentions is a bit aloof to the point of being rude, content to direct her cool gaze out across the valley.

    My wife is fully aware of this arrangement, as the she also has seen the mystery woman, who is in fact a bust placed in the upper window of an old saloon. The contrast of the stucco wall, the white bust and the blue New Mexico sky is always reason to stop and pay homage. But there was always something else about the old girl; I even named her “The Watcher”, as it seemed like she had an air of expectant sadness.

    This morning, instead of stopping just to take the customary picture, we went into the old saloon that is now a very nice restaurant. I inquired as to the origin of the bust upstairs, and was told that the area was closed due to the fact that it was known to be haunted. The owner said that the upstairs area had been a brothel back in the late 1800’s, with a secret staircase so the customers could come and go discreetly. Downstairs was the saloon and a “respectable” boarding house.

    In 1890, a newlywed couple is said to have spent their honeymoon there; the new husband went on a hunting trip during their stay, and never returned. The distraught young woman was left stuck and destitute, and was forced to become a prostitute to provide for herself, and eventually dying of an unnamed disease a few short years later. I can't imagine how tough that life must have been for a genteel young lady from back east, with all of the buffalo hunters, mule sinners and their compadres that probably frequent this establishment. Supposedly, her spirit still lingers at the old hotel, still waiting for the return of her lost husband.

    And the bust that I have called “The Watcher” for years now sits in the window of the room closest to the secret staircase. The current owners of the building prefer not to go upstairs, but didn’t mind if I paid my respects, so I did. It could have just been the scent of the century old wallpaper giving off the particular vibe, but there did seem to be an air of sad appreciation in the room when I entered. Everyone wants to be remembered; how else would you explain the thousands of dollars paid for individual headstones every day?

    The brothel beds still remain, as do the washbasins, baby crib, all of the things that a whorehouse might accumulate over the years.

    If you ever find yourself in northern New Mexico, hitch your ride to the post outside the Laguna Vista Restaurant and Saloon in Eagle's Nest, and have a great meal downstairs, and pay homage to the solitary watcher upstsirs.
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  17. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

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    Oklahoma is Altziemers to a western road trip.

    I'm sure that most of us have reached the age that dementia or Altziemers has touched somebody we know. A parent, spouse, favorite uncle or aunt, someone who's life of good memories is stricken away by their last years of descent into someone we don't even recognize. This is always the case when I ride home across Oklahoma; for a time, it's like the good times in Colorado and Utah never happened at all.

    It starts with the fact that Olahoma is a bit too small to cross in two days, but is a brutally boring day if you try it in one. This is especially true when you start the day over in the Texas panhandle, and the crosswinds have you a bit frazzled before you even hit Sayre.

    Our government should be horsewhipped for "giving" this wasteland to the Native Americans with the grandiose name "The Indian Nations; not because they didn't deserve it, but because they deserved so much more. They were supposedly being compensated for being forced off of good land in east Texas, the Carolinas, and Tennessee, somebody got gypped, and it wasn't the government. Nowadays, if you're looking for happiness along I-40 in Oklahoma, you better hope it's in a truck stop or Indian casino.

    Today was an especially enchanting day in the Sooner State; a 25-30 mph crosswind was blowing in from the south. And it wasn't an ordinary steady crosswind, that at least allows you to compensate by leaning into the wind; oh no, this is Oklahoma! These were gusty, unpredictable winds, that caused the naked Honda to buck like a wild bronco, except that it went on for eight hours instead of eight seconds, and if I decided to leap off before it ended, no clowns were going to come running out to save the day.

    How's that for a run-on sentence?

    All of this buffeting and battering was taking its toll on an already road-weary Charlie. Her uncharacteristic fidgeting about was forcing me into a nutcracker up against the tank, so I took many more saddle breaks to let her unwind a bit. It was at one of these stops when one of Elk City's finest specimens of southern womanhood came into contact with Charlie and I. We were minding our own business, eating our Mcnuggets in a peaceful manner in the sidewalk when Ms Okie 2019 walks around the corner, clad in pill-balled pajama bottoms and a faux leopard jacket. Her hair was cropped short and appeared to be colored by something in a can labeled "Kiwi".

    When she recoiled from Charlie, I assured her that she had nothing to be afraid of. I didnt think that this was especially confrontational, so I was surprised when I was quickly told to go eff myself. My, THAT escalated quickly; I told her that if my only options were myself or her in those saggy pajama bottoms, I would take my chances with myself.

    I'm pretty sure we're not friends anymore.

    We were tired and cranky, so we wanted to see what she had to say when she came back out., and she didn't disappoint. We didn't say a word, and she actually gave me a raspberry, actually the magnum opus of all raspberries, as she had no upper teeth. This allowed her tongue to flap freely, unencumbered by teeth that had obviously been issued an eviction notice years before. It was a truly epic raspberry, so magnificent that the best response I could come up with was a feeble "HAG!!". I felt like I was channeling my inner Grumpy Old Man.

    And while I'm taking shots at states, I'll take one at my own. Arkansas is the world headquarters for both the League of Left Lane Bandits and the Society of AARPers, those that practice the mystical act of leaving their left turn signal on whenever they leave their driveway(AARP, AARP, AARP). I had no sooner crossed the state line when I encountered Granny Weatherall camped out in the left lane in her rusted out Santa Fe, texting Aunt Susie on her flip phone. She was blissfully ignorant of the fact that traffic was stacking up behind her despite my flashing lights and helpful hand gestures, and then all of a sudden, Oklahoma didnt seem so bad.

    Fatigue makes cowards of us all, and I was getting concerned about Charlie. So I called my wife to meet me about an hour out of Little Rock, and take the Charles the rest of the way in the car. When we met, I went ahead and stripped the bike of all the luggage, about 130# between the bags and the dog. I almost tossed it over onto her right side when hoisting her off of the kickstand; wow, this feels like a different bike!

    I took off towards home under an almost full moon, same road but different mood. I was back in my beloved Ozarks where I know the exits, and don't have to worry about seeing the sphincter-tightening words "no services" glaring at me from a highway sign. Familiar roads that I had been eager to leave in my rear view mirror were now just begging to have their corners carved, and it made me think of one of Trevor's last posts on his blog:

    "When the Little Rock skyline finally appeared in the horizon, acute angles perfectly stamped through the dim sheet of twilight, I smiled. The distant, familiar buildings quickly became my neighborhood and a mile wide grin spread over my face. But that smile escalated into weak laughter and my vision blurred with exhausted tears. Over a month ago I predicted my house would look different as I approached from this opposite end of the street. I was wrong though. Our little corner home appeared unaltered in reality and memory.

    It was the road that was different."

    Then it occurred to me that the first trip in 2013 and the one recently completed, as well as Trevor's trips and for that matter any trip a motorcyclist takes for the purpose of self discovery, are part of the same journey.

    And the road goes ever on.
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    Nixels, JB2, Eyebooger and 8 others like this.
  18. jdfog2

    jdfog2 Been here awhile

    Joined:
    Apr 15, 2012
    Oddometer:
    264
    Location:
    West Central Indiana
    I'm married to an Okie (purest sense...she was born in Oklahoma (where's Jerry Jeff when you need him?) She mostly grew up in California, then moved back to Oklahoma in her teens. I met her when she was 19 ...a Loooong time ago). I lived there 10 years and "it grows on you"

    I'd like to be able to argue with your depiction of the environmental conditions there but you'd just be proven more correct and I'd sound like the fool. Especially after the recent/current weather there.

    I will say in OK's defense..."it grows on you." It takes years but that red dust gets in your psyche to the point that you actually and enthusiastically believe that "the land we belong to is grand! And when we say, you're doin' fine Oklahoma! Oklahoma! OK!"

    Seriously, try that Talimena (Ark/OK) Skyline Drive sometime in the fall...nice :)

    Now as far as your fine friend "Miss Okie 2019"...I am guessing she was from Kansas and just got lost at some point and ended up in OK. ;)

    Thanks for taking us all along on a great adventure. And Get well soon Charlie!

    JD
    Nixels, JB2, Amphib and 1 other person like this.
  19. dogjaw

    dogjaw plays well alone Supporter

    Joined:
    Jul 13, 2008
    Oddometer:
    4,058
    Location:
    between the Ozarks and the Ouachitas
    It's all on good fun, as I have many great friends from the Sooner State(does that make me sound racist?), it's just that I was completely and totally sick of crosswinds, Charlie getting especially fidgety, Oklahoma state troopers, and it had been a loooong two weeks and counting.

    Plus, Quanah Parker was born in southwest Oklahoma, and the Turnpike Troubadors are from Tulsa, and I have to love that.

    and I have ridden the Talimena Scenic Byway enough times to know that it is incredible...

    ...and that the pavement quality deteriorates dramatically when you cross the state line from Arkansas into Oklahoma. (Duck and run for cover)

    20190522_140239.jpg
    JB2, jdfog2, MrKiwi and 1 other person like this.
  20. MrKiwi

    MrKiwi Love my Tranny Super Supporter

    Joined:
    Oct 16, 2009
    Oddometer:
    11,929
    Location:
    New Zealand
    loved your narrative in this thread, you have a good story telling ability.

    And the number of new phrases you introduced me to was particularly fun.
    Nixels, JB2, jdfog2 and 2 others like this.