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Discussion in 'Ride Reports - Day Trippin'' started by jdrocks, Apr 6, 2018.
Same to you JD, stay safe and healthy.
Calvin...west Texas, hill country and Big Bend, first round on me.
in line with all the rest of the 2020 nonsense, a huge coastal storm set to kick off here in 2 hours, 40-50MPH winds for 18 hours, gusts to 68MPH, it will be a Christmas miracle if the power stays on. heck, Cat 1 hurricane starts at 74MPH. i'm pretty well prepped, but it's a long checklist, so i'm going back through it. tough to find any humor in 2020, many people might run out all or part of the remaining days in the dark.
birds at the feeders dropping the seed level an inch/hour, they know something big is on the way. there was a squirrel at the feeders too, but a big Red Tail got it on the way back to it's favorite tree.
My wife was telling me that there was some big winds in Ft Worth yesterday.
Same you JD.
A hell of a year for sure.
2021 is going to be a tire wearing stint behind bars.
Stay safe everyone. We all made it this far, just a bit more to go!
If you are reading this, you are the resistance.
Ft. Worth a long ways from me, but we did finally gets the high winds that were predicted, just 6 hours later than forecast. blowin' a gale, sideways rain, i wouldn't have wanted to be out on the highway. power out twice for us, but came back on, others still out. good riddance 2020.
just looked up the outage map, the overnight remaining outages are just a quarter mile away, dodged one there.
oh yeah, the Khronicles resurface.
for all ya Khronicle fans, there's more where those came from as soon as i get time to do a write-up. i did at least take time to put 4 more on the list.
some of those Khronicles are from so far back it seems like an entirely different era. i might get back in there to refresh my memory, or to pull out a snippet, and have to laugh myself. really, what are the chances you would somehow get back to Hyder, AK and find yourself sitting on exactly the same wobbly short leg bar stool that you had been perched on two years earlier. there's some Las Vegas odds buried in there somewhere.
i have more stories from Hyder, those that have been there know the vibe. i'm way down here in the mid-Atlantic, but if the wind is right, i can sorta smell that guy i met in Hyder, he must still be alive...it just smelled like he was dead. an observant individual with literary skills could spend 72 hours in Hyder, return home, and complete a 500 page book based on the experience.
THE KWIK-MART KHRONICLES 109
I'm strapping the junk back on the bike at a furious pace, weather not looking good, and many miles to go. Another motel guest wanders over, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth, three chins drooping over his collar, and my first thought was "Man, there's nothing worse than watching a mouth breather trying to smoke a cigarette". Alternate coughs and phlegmy gargle sounds, heck, I wouldn't mind if he strangled himself if it would get me out of the toxic smoke zone and back into clean mountain air.
This fella had missed a few rungs in his climb up the corporate ladder, never made it past the mail room I bet, and he said "I had the same bike when I went to college", uh huh, sure ya did buddy. Now looks can be deceiving, but his college experience was more likely cheap end zone seats at a couple home games, hit on the coeds, try to crash some of the after game parties he couldn't get near otherwise. I doubt mouth breathers were in high demand around whatever campus he was talking about.
He went on to say "I love the mountains, I recharge my psychic receptors up here", hmmmm, must have a day pass from the funny farm founded by Dr Leary, R.I.P. I turned up my psychic transmitter to the "STUN" frequency, ya know, just to see if he could get the message in his tuber sized data processor.
The message went out in a blast wave of energy, bah-dah-boom, bah-dah-boom, bah-dah-boom and read "Gooooooo Awaaaaaaay". Either he wasn't used to direct eye contact, had the DTs, or was off the meds, don't know, but he shook himself like your black lab does when he climbs out of the neighbor's pool after sneaking in a swim, cigarette and a little spit flying. He muttered "I'm late", and headed back to the door. Yeah, you're late alright, ya done missed da boat.
I need fuel before I hit gravel, so I pull into a likely looking place with bikes parked in front.
The owner happened to be there, turned out he owned the sports shop next door too, was very familiar with the CDR roads, and said I'd made a good decision this morning bypassing the local roads on the CDR route. With all the rain, too muddy for me to get through on the V649 rat. Talked about the roads north of Steamboat, and we decided these should be in decent shape.
Time to go, ugly sky building, I had no freakin’ idea of the disaster headed my way, I shoulda' known better by now.
Glad to see you back at it JD.
yeah, gots moar, then moar. i'm thinking about my Kwik Mart experience from 2 weeks ago, worthy of the Khronicles...as i've said, there's no end, fertile ground 24/7.
i'd be in your home territory right now if the border restrictions had been lifted, still some roads i want to travel. 60 years in Canuckistan, the stars have to align perfectly now to ever get back.
Me too JD
Glad I subscribed to your report so even with some gaps I don’t miss anything.
don't miss the next one.
breeder, girl, stoner...meet them soon.
THE KWIK-MART KHRONICLES 110
I was inbound after three days of riding in West Virginia with my “I don’t need no fucking GPS” riding buddy, mile after mile of serpentine roads, both pavement and gravel. Excellent rider, he knew the roads, no doubt, and I was just loping along behind him, sometimes without undo effort, other times in a sweat to keep the bike right-side-up. We covered some country, never bothered with lunch, but that’s what I came all the way out there to do…ride.
We’d packed up camp after a huge breakfast, no big hurry, we had trailered in, now just had to trailer out, AC set to FB, that’s Frost Bite on the dial for those unfamiliar with the 110F heat index found in the south. Shook hands, “’Til we meet again, my friend”, and we were gone to destinations at opposite compass points.
I’d picked a different return route than I had used to get there, straighter roads, fewer mountain curves and switchbacks, I think I’d seen a thousand of those very recently. Cruise set at 10 over, tag trailer behaving, eating a leftover brat from the previous night, and sipping scalding hot camp coffee from my fancy Zojirushi travel mug. That coffee had come out of the old fire scarred perc pot, black on black because I’m not sure how long it had perced. The glass tell tale had the same color as the coffee, and hadn‘t been cleaned in decades. Put it this way, if I had dropped a 16 penny nail in my mug, it would have bobbed like a cork.
I got down to White Sulfur Springs, tail gated by the same knucklehead truck driver for 60 miles. I caught a little thuggery in my mirrors, so forget any brake checking, everybody carries out here, and those 9mm rounds would start zipping down range like bees. Next time out, I’m getting me some tactical Kevlar and run flats.
I needed diesel before I got on the I system, spotted some green pump handles, there’s the place, and in a chorus of screeching brakes, nearly got hit by one of them breeder mobiles exiting without a glance at traffic, damn POS nearly ran slam into me. The woman driver was frozen in place behind the wheel, saucer size eyes, tip toeing along the tight rope above the abyss, panic attack long overdue, and obviously had given up all hope in the future way back yonder in time. Please sista, if ya happen to cross one of them tall bridges they got around here, don’t jump.
Maybe she was distracted, there had to be ten kids in there, unwashed, wormy lookin’, all hanging out the windows, screeching, whooping, carrying on like wild kids do in the absence of any parental controls. It looked like a bucket of muddy bull frogs, all trying to jump out. I did the WTF thing, she did the WTF thing, and we parted company, she in quest of a cheap bottle of wine to chase the Prozac, me looking for diesel. I’d put money on it, my day was going to be much better than hers.
I pulled right into the island ahead of me, took up both banks of pumps with truck and trailer, nobody rushed over to argue about it even though the place was packed on Sunday morning. I’d been out of cell range for days, so ya know what, I think I’ll just sit here while I catch up on phone calls, texts, and email, then pump fuel. It was a liberal interpretation, but I figured I was kinda renting the space.
A small SUV parked directly in front of me, only 25 feet away, and I forgot all about texting when a pair of world class girl legs swung out, followed by a world class butt, then world class y’all know whats, all attached to a runway gorgeous face. It was a take-your-damn-breath-away package, stunning. She had the lightest of summer tans, very short little painted on skirt, sleeveless light weight linen blouse, hair cut same as Jen. She didn’t come from church, maybe she was headed to work at the Greenbriar, just around corner, lax employee attire rules in the handbook.
After a languid feline stretch, she was looking directly at me looking directly at her, never mind she was used to guys staring at her, and held all the cards in that game. I did mention those legs, incredibly long, in the world record category. I keep a tape measure in the truck, but I didn’t think it would go over very well if I jumped out and said “Hey, can I check your inseam, I want to run it against the current Guinness record?” Sense of humor or not, she wouldn’t have treated it as a rhetorical question, might have called the cops.
She wandered off into the Kwik Mart, and I finished pumping diesel. I was on the phone when she got back, now eating one of those ice cream cones with the nuts on top. “I gotta put some diesel in the truck, let me call you back.” She was nibbling and licking at that ice cream, bent forward at the waist so she didn’t get a mess on her blouse, but still watching me over the top of the cone, good lordy. The truck was running, windows up, AC on, but I still got an imaginary whiff of the scent she was wearing…a mixture of Coco Mademoiselle, Dalmore 25, and sex. She got tired of the game, flipped the cone into the trash can, then somehow folded those legs into that little SUV. Seems impossible, but she managed to drive away with a careless wave. Whew. Lucky I never got that pacemaker thing my cardio doc wanted to install, it would have blown the hell up.
I’d been here longer than expected, but needed to run inside for a soft drink and a handful of road snacks, it was a straight through drive now. I got to the cashier, young guy with bed hair mixed with dog and cat sheds, every inch of skin covered with tats. If he wanted a new one, he’d have to find a guy that would lay down a tattoo on his ass, thank goodness none of the tats required spelling proficiency. Piercing, he looked like he’d been smacked hard in the head with a bag of miscellaneous hardware, some of which got stuck on his face and ears.
Set my stuff down on the counter, but he never reacted and kept looking straight over the top of my shoulder. Took me a minute, but I realized that this guy was WUI, working under the influence, out of it, wandering around in a different time zone, maybe searching fruitlessly for his little dog named Poopie…but that’s just a spur of da moment guess. He blinked when I said “What do I owe ya?”, then scanned the items with the slomo turned down to time lapse. I handed him some bills, but he couldn’t make change from the cash drawer even though the amount was on the digital display. He would pick a coin out of the tray, then hold it up for a closer look like he’d never seen one before. Damn, this is crazy, and I waved to a lady who was stocking shelves.
The conversation went “Ok, two of the ones on your right, no your other right, the big silver ones on the end, good, now two of the little silver ones in the middle, ok, grab one of the silver ones on this side next to the little silver ones, good, now get three of those small brownish ones over here. Hand the man his money, you’re doing much better than yesterday.” Yeah, sure ya are, someone could teach a cat to play the piano faster than they could teach this stoner to make change. It wasn’t the lady’s fault he had his freakin’ dealer on his phone contact list, the guy who mixed up a bespoke blend of weed that turned his brain into a rutabaga. I was about to tell the lady not to lose track of him, or he’d run down the aisle and huff the Old Spice.
Oh well, it’s West Virginia, no harm, no foul…and I was gone back to Virginia, mindful of who would and who would not hear about that girl.
Best one yet. Thanks jd.
thanks, wild stuff from a single stop. that girl is the chorus line from Billy Idol's Rebel Yell...if ya have a good imagination.
the bike that was on the trailer has a 35" seat height, she could have stepped right over the top of it without touching a thing.
if anything touched, you were on the wrong end of the crazy/hot matrix