Iron Pine Club

I was up early Saturday. It was August 15. Nice thing about not getting wasted in bars is you can live a normal life the next day. That is why I observe strict limits on my alcohol intake. A gibbous moon was hanging in the Eastern sky, dogged by a giant planet. It was fairly clear but later the clouds rolled in again and it rained. But, hey! It's Saturday. I am on vacation and there are lots of opportunities to pursue. I wanted to make something new happen and I knew how to do it.

I was putting on some socks the other day and it happens that when I undid the pair from their little stuff bundle they were both wrong-side out. This never happens and it made me think. How many times did I have to perform this operation to get an unexpected result? A great many. What if I accelerated the process, spent all day every day folding and unfolding? What kind of population of socks would I have to look at to find an anomaly? It is like growing maize you see. Drive down a country road and look at the maize fields. Millions of plants, all uniform. Except every now and then, maybe one in 500,000, you will see a mutant. These can be much taller than their peers; that's one way to identify them. My mission on this trip has been to create such a population of events that something unexpected will happen. After all why seed the heavens with 100 billion galaxies if you weren't looking for the unexpected? This principle runs through it all. So, that's why I went so far out of my way to engage people. Sometimes I don't do this being satisfied to be a rock, an island. The song says a rock feels no pain, an island never cries. Well, of course they do, though it might just be as a potentiality. It is still there. I had this conversation in the car with Gary and Pat on our way up to Fort Benton yesterday and from their reaction I am sure that I needed to just shut up and keep my own counsel close to myself, so to speak, where it is appreciated. Smile. So, with that in mind, when evening came, though I was a little tired, I mounted my iron steed and set out yet again for parts unknown in down-town Great Falls, Montana.

I rode around a bit after getting there. It was somewhat cold at 7:30 P.M., but there were a few people around. I pulled up next to a guy crossing the street and asked him whether there might be a decent bar in the neighbourhood. He directed me over a block and back towards the river a couple more to the Iron Pine Club.

As I was parking the bike, speaking of the unexpected, my son called to check up on me and to remind me that his baby was due in two days. We talked for a few minutes while I went inside and took off my riding coat and helmet. Then, I went to the bar and took a seat next to a couple of guys. The bar was not at all busy and wouldn't be anything like the experience I had the previous evening at the Sip and Dip.

These two guys were talking about being stopped by police and how to resist when they wanted to search the vehicle. Since I have some experience, from the law enforcement side, of this kind of scenario it was easy to join the conversation. The guy on my immediate left and I quickly settled that issue and launched into a far ranging discussion of topics from battle space monitored by satellite communications to the readiness of our nuclear deterrent. There are a lot of missiles in silos in Montana and his job had to do with their readiness. He was Air Force, and about to get out and go back to his home in one of the Carolinas. I really liked him, and he me. He said he'd never met anyone like me before. Couldn't believe that I knew so much about almost everything. Wouldn't let me go, so I had one extra drink. Off on the subject of women, he is married, he wanted to hook me up with a Shanna or Holley who worked in a "massage" parlour a couple of blocks away. Gave me their phone number, told me how to get to the place, and even tried to call them himself, but got a voice mail, of which I was glad. I didn't want to hurt his feelings but no way I was going to use a hooker. There are better ways to get something unexpected, if you take my meaning. Anyhow, he said I'd be in like flint if I would just tell them Scott sent me. This was an interesting counterpoint to what had gone before to say the least. I didn't elicit this offering. It just sprang up. I guess it was an instance of necessity being the mother of invention. You figure it out. At any rate, in a very few days, I would truly strike pure gold. But so sadly, alas, a fortelling, I could not stake a claim, though I tried. I tried hard....

Some of my exchange with Scott needed illustration and I kept the napkin with our doodles on it as a keepsake. It has the Star of David on it. We talked about religion. It has a "battle space" on it with a satellite high overhead. It has the gibbous moon being dogged by a star, because he didn't know what dogging the moon meant. It has the name of the massage parlor, the girls names, the phone numbers, and a bunch of other stuff, front and back. When it came time for me to really go he gave me a pass to Glacier National Park he said he wouldn't be needing, and when I went to shake his hand he pulled me into an embrace. It felt right. Two human beings, a random encounter, souls mixed, we part feeling like we somehow in the space of time it takes to drink two or three scotch and sodas, probably twice that many for Scott, came as two people and left as one. Sad I will never see him again. He was really hungry for the kind of exchange we had and I felt very good about having opened my heart and soul to him. A question springs to mind. What IS going on here? I do see a pattern emerging, but I daren't touch to heavily for fear it will dissolve.

Once again, on my way out, I took some pictures. The one at the top is the bartender. His name is Kyle Vogel. He didn't know that Vogel meant bird in German. I looked at him real hard and asked him who he looked like that I might know, an actor, I said. He said Leonardo DiCaprio. I said, yes! That's it, you really do. He smiled real proud. I told him I didn't particularly care for the guy but that he was a decent actor. He agreed he didn't like him much either. I said that I'd bet the girls hung off him like ornaments. He laughed, then I shook his hand as the picture was taken. I think he overheard a lot of Scott's conversation with me and I regret as I write this not having brought him into the discussion.

This picture is of the guy who was concerned about getting his car searched. I took it because of the ear thing, which he pulled out and reinserted for me. Cute.














And this is his sister. She is married, but nice and friendly and didn't flinch a bit when I kissed her as her brother took the picture. I got her email and sent her a copy, but she hasn't written me back. Sad but expected. But, hey! I am just planting seeds here. The surprise will have to come later. The population is not nearly big enough yet.

Sip and Dip Tavern

Well, it's been a long day. Time to unwind. I asked around back at camp where a good local watering hole could be found. The camp host marked a spot on the map for me. It was down-town, in the O'Haire Motor Inn. The Sip and Dip.

The main bar faces two large glass windows which look in on the Inn's swimming pool. I am told one or two swimmers will appear in awhile wearing some kind of mermaid costume. I want pictures.

There is a guy and his wife to my right. I pick up conversation with them. They are from South Carolina. He used to live here and says, no kidding, that he has seen people, guests of the hotel, have sex right there in front of the crowd in the bar. It seems that, at that time at least, people in the pool didn't know they were being watched. I guess they didn't notice the large glass panels in the wall of the pool. Anyhow, I take this with a grain of salt, but he was dead serious and I even heard him repeat it to a couple of other people that came and went. One of these was a guy in coveralls fresh in from his job. He walked up to the bar next to me and asked in a very Southern accent whether this was the world famous Sip and Dip club. I announced it was and momentarily passed him off to my expert friend on the right. Turns out this new fellow was from Louisiana and was living up here working as a welder for awhile.

The bar got very crowded. It was loud and the air buzzed with conversations. Only one mermaid showed up. It wasn't a disappointment. The real show was on the floor of the bar.















That is Beckie. I heard some guy address her as a he. I wasn't similarly confused. She has a very sweet, high pitched voice. I got her to sign a book of matches for a souvenir for me. She wrote, "Best Wishes, Beckie". I asked her about the guy that misjudged her gender and she said it happens once in awhile but that it doesn't bother her. I'll bet this fellow was embarassed when he heard her speak. I said she did look like she could hurt me and she laughed and the other bartender who overheard this exchange said she was a sweetheart and wouldn't harm a fly.















This is what was pushing me from behind. I got friendly with these belly dancers as I was leaving. I'd had my allotted three scotches at about $3.00 each, and no cover either. You gotta love that, for less than $20 I had this great evening. Anyhow belly dancers and I kidded around a few minutes, especially me and the one on my right arm. I teased her mercilessly about how her boobs were about to pop out. She lapped it up. Real hungry. Ended up she did a little belly dance for me. We had a great laugh.

And this fine lady plays the piano while at the same time with her feet she plays an organ. She is 80 years old.















When I arrived at the Sip and Dip it had been raining. And it was probably in the 50s with a North wind. Leaving it was still wet, but barely drizzling. I had a lot of fun at the club in spite of the somewhat inclement weather for a biker. But the best fun was showing these pictures to my brother the next morning.

Fort Benton, Montana

Friday morning, August 14, we drove a few miles north to Montana's birthplace, Fort Benton.











Here is what the river looks like just down stream from the fort. I saw paintings of Indians standing on bluffs overlooking the river at a similar place taking shots at steamboats passing by.














This is the Grand Union Hotel. It was built in 1882 and restored in 1999. I sure wanted to stay here but that will have to wait till the next trip.














This is the lobby.














This picture hangs next to the desk. It is Chief Plenty Coups. He was named chief of the Mountain Crow at age 28. At this time I had met Emily, the desk clerk, and my quip to her was that the haircut was still popular.


















This is the hotel bar. That is Emily. She told me the original bar has been removed to a bar in Missoula, Montana.

Emily is Emily Bley pronounced Bligh. She said she had a famous last name but couldn't tell me who the original Bligh was. I recall a certain Capt. Bligh, but couldn't relate the history to her. Emily signed her name to a hotel business card for me. She was very nice and since the hotel was anything but busy gave me a walking tour of the ground floor. On a personal note she told me, and my brother and his wife, who had been shopping across the street at a kiosk run by some local Hetterites, about a proposal of marriage she received from a sixteen year old from this "clan". She was of an age with the boy and was manning a stall her dad had set up selling wares from his operation, I don't recall what exactly. The Hetterites are like the Amish. They wear distinctive dress and the like. So, he walks up to her booth and asks if he could please see her father. She asked why and he said he would like to ask for her hand in marriage. When she refused him the interview with her father the boy went away but came back a little later with his father, to strengthen his suit. I noted that this is exactly how such a transacton would have taken place in the 1700s.














Here is a frontal shot of the original (restored) Ft. Benton. Note the rifle slits.














I wish this had come out better.














The bull stands almost six feet at the shoulders and would have weighed about 2200 pounds. This grouping was originally gathered by the great conservationist William T. Hornady and were originally displayed in the Smithsonian in 1887 when it was feared the great bison would soon be extinct. We saw bison on this trip, grazing alongside the road near Glacier Nat'l Park.














A grizzly. Seems intent on something.


















This is what he is concerned about, but not too much, I expect.














We visited a couple of old churches.


































































Our trip ended with a ride across the Missouri river on a ferry. We took the back roads back to Great Falls passing section after section of wheat stubble with an occasional uncut field in between.














No mention of Fort Benton, Montana would be complete without bringing in the story of the world famous dog, Shep. A Sheepherder's body was shipped back East for burial back in August, 1936. His dog witnessed this and every train arrival for five years till Shep himself was killed by a train saw him watching and waiting for the return of his master. It is a profoundly sad story, of course. Though I had heard of Shep, I didn't realise I was at the source of the story till I got there. An old guy I met on the bridge there over the Missouri river, now for walking only, made reference to it. His name is Gail, funny name for a man, he agreed (I asked him if it was spelled Gayle because one of my best high-school friends carried that name). Gail used to be superintendent of schools in Fort Benton. I wanted to share this sentimental and profound testament to love, to awakening spiritual awareness. It speaks volumes that a dog would display sentiments that we arrogate exclusively to ourselves as humans. And obviously, if you are inclined to such musings, it fills in a blank space in that template we might all be trying to grasp that could it be seen clearly would carry the meaning and purpose of life itself.

Great Falls Montana

I was glad to finally end my ride and my brother and his wife feted me with leftover chicken casserole which set very well as I had been living off snack food all day. This is the Malstrom Air Force Base RV park and would serve as home for the next few days. I didn't do anything the first evening, just relaxed and enjoyed visiting with my family.














These are the great falls for which the city is named. I imagine this rages wildly with snow melt if seen at the right time of year. They do have it damned up here and they use the surplus runoff to generate electricity at this damn.














This tells how in 1805 Lewis and Clark made a portage around these falls.














We visited this Veteran's Memorial nearby. It was a beautiful place.










































I was taken with this statue. The doves being released reminded me of a funeral service I participated in a while back in which white doves were released by the next of kin of a serviceman killed in Iraq. He is holding several dog tags in his right hand that you can't see in this picture. I found this very touching.

Cheyenne to Great Falls

It is now Thursday, August 13. Yesterday it was in the 90s. Last night and this morning it was much cooler. I put on my heavy coat for this ride and before the day was out I was fully suited up for wet and cold weather. The dry Texas summer was far behind me and it felt real good to plunge heedlessly without a care into the infinite asphalt and steel ribbon before me, the road north to Great Falls, Montana. That is 682 miles.

I-25 was just outside my door so it was a fast getaway out of Cheyenne. The bike screamed at the distance and it melted in submission to the dauntless intrepidity of this bike and rider. I was the can-do kid this morning, ready for whatever this day had to offer up. It was bright and sunny all the way north through Wyoming. I shed the coat about 10 a.m. Not far after I took this picture I was passing through Hardin, Montana. The Battle of Little Big Horn, also known as, Custer's Last Stand, took place near here. You can see the grave markers from the highway. I stopped at a nearby rest area and when I came out of the rest room an Indian man of an age with me had laid out his display of Indian jewelry on the grass. I picked out a nice necklace. He was Navajo and we talked for a minute about his work and about my travels. He was a real nice man and I liked him. I thought his work pretty nice. I picked this up for fifteen dollars. When I got home Kristi was quite taken with it. She is very parsimonious about handing me compliments, but I got one for my good taste for this selection.



















Here I am at the border.














Click on this to view larger image and note the stickers people have climbed up here to apply. You can see this sign has been shot up a little with a rifle and a shotgun. A couple of the rounds seemed to have come in from a great angle indicating the shooter was probably way off to the east somewhere.














When I got to Billings I left the interstate to take a hundred mile shorter route to Great Falls through Lewiston. After Lewiston there was a construction zone, the worst one of the trip. There was a lot of deep very loose gravel and an occasional fist sized or larger rock. Not fun at all to ride through. It was about this time that it clouded over and I ran smack into a cold front. So, it's in the upper 40s, it's raining, the wind is blowing, the road is slick and muddy, and, on top of all that, it is like rush hour traffic in Dallas on this two lane road. Am I having fun yet? But, you know, if you want fine highways you have to take the occasional construction zone. We are blessed to have these paths. Like any other path, I intend to see where it leads.

This picture's subject is the green fields. That yellowish field on the right is winter wheat, still not ready for harvest, though by and large most of the wheat fields I saw had been harvested.














I just wanted to get this picture of the clouds rolling in. That is a pretty big mountain in the distance, it's peaks shrouded in the cloud layer. It is really a lot darker than it seems from this rendition. It was serious gloaming out that afternoon.















This is the view west where I stopped to put on my cold/wet weather gear. It started raining almost immediately and continued till, well, for the next few days, off and on. I got my left hand in the frame here. That is not a pink cloud bank, or at least that is not how I recall it.



















The photo does not do this justice. Click to enlarge. That inner rainbow actually went across the whole sky, horizon to horizon.

Wichita to Cheyenne

Interstate 80 here has a 75 MPH speed limit. Kansas is 70. You would think that 5 miles per hour would make little difference but it does. The bike and I want to go much faster anyhow, at least a hundred, but I think I can get away with about 78 so that is what I set it on. The traffic is moderate and I park it in the left lane for the most part because the right lane is more or less owned by the truckers whom I pass by the hundreds. I only know of one time that I got clocked by a state trooper. Construction zones came up a few times but were not too much of trouble. It is 609 miles from Wichita to Cheyenne. That is a pretty fair ride and it was in the mid 90s I guess. The wind was strong out of the south making the bike tack a little to the left as I attacked the distance. My brother and his wife were camping in their RV in Cheyenne I thought and it was my intention to visit them. They didn't know I was coming so when I got to Sidney, Nebraska I stopped for gas and called to let them know my intentions. They had moved that day to Helena, Montana. I was pretty tired so I thought I would just stay in Sidney so I checked out a few places but they wanted more than I was willing to pay. Motel six was about a hundred dollars. No way was I going to do that. Sidney is where Cabella's outfitters has their headquarters. I think that is why the rooms are so expensive. So I mounted up again after wasting an hour in a fruitless search and headed again into the westering sun.

Arriving in Cheyenne about four in the afternoon I cruised the main drag looking for a good place to overnight and eventually ended up at the Roadway Inn near I-25 on the west side of town. Here again as I was checking in I asked the desk clerk about a good place to have a drink that evening. She told me I should check out the Outlaw saloon just south of I-80 near down-town. After taking a shower and working a little on my equipment and gear I headed out at sunset for the Outlaw Saloon.

The Outlaw bar is country/western and there too I found some motorcycles. Parking next to these you could hear and see a band with the volume cranked way up. There was a patio there and an indoor/outdoor bar where I ordered a scotch and soda from the very tall and stout female bartender. The club was almost empty and what people there were were concentrated on the patio which was fairly pleasant in the early evening air. The best part about it was the music was at a little distance. It was too loud. Four ladies shared the bar with me. They were maybe in their late fifties. As I walked across the patio I locked eyes with an attractive brunette who was maybe 35 or so. I caught her looking at me. We exchanged greetings and she went to her table where she joined a small group. I took a place at the end of the bar leaving a space between me and the ladies.

Once I got served I walked around the patio, checking things out. A lone dancer, a guy, was whirling and jumping on the dance floor in something he no doubt thought was a dance. I thought it was the dance equivalent of the visual artist who is unconscious of the fact that his rendering of his profound vision is tantamount to a baby discovering he can play in the stuff in his diaper.

I turned away from the music putting my back to the bar. About that time a guy approached me from my right. I could see a name tag on his shirt that said "staff". He asked me if I knew the time saying he didn't have a watch. I had my left hand in my pocket. His time query was just a ruse so he could see the back of my left hand because when I pulled it out he said, glancing at my hand that I needed a stamp there. This bar had a cover charge. He said I needed to go pay so and so lady across the way five bucks. I said no thanks, that I would just leave instead. I didn't like the way he handled me. I didn't know there was a cover but, never mind. I didn't particularly like the place anyhow.

I rode the mile or so down town and parked in front of the Plains hotel. I love this place. It is a 1911 period piece. I walked through the lobby following the path of all those people who came before. There weren't but a couple of people around the lobby besides the doorman and a lone desk clerk. I wanted to go to the bar but I was also interested in staying the night at some point so I got the price. About $100. The bar was pretty active with a lot of people eating at their tables. There were two women at one end and a guy with the biggest black felt cow boy hat one is likely to run across. The bar was a beautiful piece of sculpted wood. It was dark coloured, but not too dark. You just wanted to touch it, rub on it. I sat down leaving one seat between me and the guy in the big hat. No sooner did I settle down than he warmly introduced himself as Don. I said my name is John. He said Don John. That's easy to remember. I laughed. I ordered my second scotch and soda for the evening at the same time greeting the bartender. He was pretty nice. His name was Artie and he drove a Budweiser beer truck for his day job. I commented on how many pounds he lifted per day and his retort was that it was tons not pounds. I thought he might be working his way through college but he said he wasn't in school at the time.

Meanwhile Don and I are talking too. He is actually a frequent guest of the hotel. Works for Makita, the tool people. He is of an age with me and we hit it off pretty well because he was also a fan of BMW motorcycles. He used to have an R90/6, he said. A 1974. I have a 76. These are fine machines. He said he made a twenty thousand dollar bet with a guy once on a race to New York City. His friend was a Harley guy. He lost. His bike broke down several times on the trek, but not the Beemer

We had a pretty good little party. I also talked a little across the bar to the two women on the end, when I could interject a quip, and the girl to my right, when her boy friend would absent himself for a moment, I engaged also. I thought they left once and when they came back she told me they had gone out to smoke. This gave me a chance to loudly declaim that the world must be truly changing because I was sure that the smoking Nazis would never find success in Wyoming of all places.

I turned over 100,000 miles today.


Cool picture of bike from my balcony. I took this the morning of my departure for Great Falls.

Austin to Wichita August 11

It's Tuesday morning. I've been thinking about this trip for months but could never commit because of pending issues at home, and in my heart. I can't write about the biggest thing going on in my life. Know that I am dragging around a ball and chain on my feet, and Monday I had a long standing appointment. With it over I was free as I wanted to be. I went to bed Monday not knowing what I would do. I was restless as I have ever been. It felt wrong to go. It felt wrong to stay. I needed to shake something loose no matter what. Introduce some chaos into life's stream. If you want your situation to mutate into the unexpected then get up and go and meet life head on. I had done all I could do about the unnamed affair, all to no avail. I cried all my tears and lived for weeks as if my increasingly shriveled heart would fix itself. Ah, that organ, so sensitive, so easily ruined, so in need of renewal. Tuesday morning my waking thought was, OK, let's get it done. Do something even if it is wrong. We are going to leave all this behind and maybe nothing good will happen. But at least I can still make something happen. If you want a new form of life you have to plant a lot of seeds in order to get one mutation. So, as I had my morning coffee I packed up the "K" bike and by seven thirty I was heading down my driveway to I didn't quite know where. I got on I-35 near Walburg, Texas and joining the stream of humanity heading north, hiding there in my helmet, I flew along the macadam of the interstate highway as fast as I thought I could get away with. As it turns out this is the same path I took in June. I had a notion, more or less, that I would ride till four in the afternoon.

It is 515 miles to Wichita, Kansas. The cities rose up out of the plains and swallowed me up and spit me out the other side. Waco, Fort Worth, Denton, Norman, Oklahoma City, Edmund, and finally, at four P.M., Wichita, Kansas loomed on the horizon. It was hot and sunny all day. I was glad to be at a stopping place.

I stayed in the Scotchman Inn on Kellogg Avenue just west of downtown. While checking in I asked the clerk where I could find a tavern nearby and after I unpacked the bike and showered and changed into street clothes I headed out. West avenue was just over the river only a mile or so back towards town from my Inn. It was real cluttered with suburban blight but I found Yvie's bar and grill. There were two Harley's sitting by the front door and several cars. I backed my beemer in next to the Harleys. Some guy went in ahead of me carrying a fancy cue stick case. I went in and took a seat at the bar. There were several pool tables. Two middle aged ladies were standing at the bar. They ordered some beers and went to play pool at the nearest table. I sat down at the bar and when the bartender asked me what I wanted I ordered Dewars and soda. On my left were two empty stools. On my right a guy was drinking beer. I didn't talk to him and thought about moving over one seat to put some space between us as I intuited he didn't really want me there.

I sipped my scotch and minded my own business and watched the other happenings in the bar. The barkeep was a woman in her thirtys maybe and she was real busy. I don't think they had anyone else helping except in the kitchen so she not only served drinks but also waited tables, serving food and drink. The place wasn't full but I don't think there were any tables completely empty either. She was busy. I just nursed my drink, bided my time, ignored the guy to my right as much as possible. He was trying clumsily to chat up the bartender and she was friendly in a businesslike fashion. So, nothing really happened. I had a drink and it slaked my thirst and cut through all the dirt and grime in my mouth, in my mind, accumulated riding the trail from near Austin, Texas to Wichita, Kansas. When my glass was empty the girl presented herself in front of me and asked if I wanted another. I looked at her, locked eyes with her, put a friendly look on my face, waited to the count of four, and said I would be leaving. She said, "OK, then that will be five dollars." Looking into her face still I said, as I reached for my wallet,, "what is your name?" "Angie," she said. Handing her a ten dollar bill and a one I said, "Give me back a five, keep the dollar for a tip." She went to the cash drawer and fished a five out and came back to me. I had meantime collected a book of matches with the name of the bar printed on the cover. "Angie,", I said, "sign your name on this for me." She smiled, and said, "Oh, you collect matchbooks?" "Well, no," I said. The guy on the right was intent on this exchange, I could tell, but he kept his distance. Looking at her signature, I said, "I might start a collection." She smiled as I put the five back in my wallet and got up from the bar stool. We exchanged pleasantries, "good bye, have a nice evening." As I turned to go I spke to the back of the guy's head sitting there on my right and said, "and you too, man." He still didn't acknowledge me and almost cringed, I thought, as I walked out the door. So, the first seed successfully planted.

I went back to the Scotchman and checked the bike over for tomorrow's run. My gear was in need of some reorganization because in my haste to get on the road I just stuffed things anywhere. After a bit of this I turned in and slept fitfully till about six thirty Wednesday morning. By seven thirty I was in the lobby where I grabbed some cream cheese and preserves to go with my bread for a snack on the road.

An elderly couple were having cereal. We exchanged greetings. I didn't sit down. Obama was on the TV. It was a news clip about the health care debate. I addressed the couple about the AARP and how they were for this but that a lot of our seniors were beginning finally to see that this would adversely affect their lives and were strongly coming out against it. I don't know how politically aware these folks were but they listened politely neither agreeing or no as I said my peice. That too was a seed planted.

It was a nice day, still cool, when I mounted up and headed out for Nebraska straight up I-35. But in a few hours it was in the mid 90s with a south west wind. The prairie rolled up under my spinning wheels and the vast regions of my mind likewise rolled up behind my rapidly advancing thoughts and feelings. Heart and soul, mind and body were one in purpose and intent. I only stopped for fuel and one rest area where I had a snack about mid day. I got to York, Nebraska, where Interstate 80 headed me due west across southern Nebraska. It was hot when I stopped there for fuel. I struck up a conversation with an attractive girl at the fuel island. She was headed for Chicago and had come from the direction in which I was going. I asked about road conditions and such just wanting to hear a human voice and especially hers. She was quite open and didn't object to this chance meeting. Finishing up our fueling we parted wishing one another safe trips.

Northwest Passage

It is now Thursday, August 13. Yesterday it was in the 90s. Last night and this morning it was much cooler. I put on my heavy coat for this ride and before the day was out I was fully suited up for wet and cold weather. The dry Texas summer was far behind me and it felt real good to plunge headlong along the road north to Great Falls.

I-25 was just outside my door so it was a fast getaway out of Cheyenne. The bike screamed at the distance and it melted in submission to the dauntless intrepidity of this bike and rider. I was the can-do kid this morning, ready for whatever this day had to offer up.

rough roads, rain, wind, heavy traffic

Then cheyenne to great falls live in trailer visit sip and dip then side trip to ft benton grand union hotel girl at hotel, gail on bridge, and at night iron pine bar back in great fallsthen sunday, john 17 with gary, then st johns lutheran

West Glacier to Billings, Wednesday, August 18, 2009:
couple of thoughts. The reason I ride a MC is I want to be validated. MC riders wave. People in cars don't. MC riders show up for life. Car drivers don't They are focused inward. MC riders outward. They are involved in the world car drivers ware involved with themselves it was warmer, but not uncomfortable. back hurt. fast hard ride to billings. No bar. chicken in room ugh no call from kristi since monday.

Regarding last night, tuesday night, at fredas in west glacier it is a damn shame two beautiful young and very available girls went begging to a 65 year old bon vivant because the multitude of young men on the scene couldn't or wouldn't step up to the need. Why? Multiculturasits should have jumped at the opportunity to mix it up with norwegian girls and vice versa. why didn't tina marie and heidi act more agressively? Good qhueston. The boys, brannen, brandon, marshall (levi and brannen weren't there monday.)kurt, and others, never approached them. I watched this little side show for over about two hours before I made my move.

I sat down on the floor, my back to the door jamb. Heidi, I didn't know her name at the time, was also sitting on the floor. Whe was leaning back against the opposite jamb. To my rignt, on a bench, I met Emma, from New Zealand. She was living in Nevada and traveling with a friend. I spent a few minutes talking to her before turning my attention to Heidi, on my right. I think I simply asked her during a lull in the conversatinon what language they were speaking. Another older guy had moved in by now, but he was not agressive. He seemed only peripherally interested in the girls. His name was John Paul and he went by Paul. Interesting. I, of course, am John Paul, but I go by John. What kind of confluence of cosmic forces and mundane events such as passed that evening could account for what seems like some kind of mockery from the absurd itself.

Entelechy

What is the end within? The end within a rose bud is a rose. An acorn becomes an Oak tree. The end within. Blow this up. All things have an end within. A purpose. How can you say that there is no purpose to creation as a whole when you must realise that the rose bud is a manifestation of what is going on on the grand scale? If a rose bud's purpose is to display the rose within, then the purpose of the cosmos is presumed to be a very real, a very live, thing. You, your life, is that end within. You are the rose. Get over it!

This is Aristotle via me.

Existentialism

Existentialism: Ex nihil, nihil fit. Out of nothing comes nothing. That is what I reject, and, well, the real purpose of this sentiment is to provide an indulgence for the subject. It makes no more sense than saying out of everything comes everything. It is a mere tautology, its only possible reference is back on itself. Therefore it conveys no meaning. It is like living in the sentiment that existence, that life, is nothing but a flight from the alone TO the alone. I reject that, too.

Note re equality tards

In a closed system, such as the Cosmos, the Universe,
If there is light and dark, eventually that which is dark merges with that which is light and you have neither dark nor light. If there is hot and cold, the same formula applies. If there is organised and chaotic, the same. That is the second law of thermodynamics. That is immutable. Dead stop!

Strange jump! The equality tards seek to accelerate this process. Don't they know it means death?
So, the struggle between liberty and statism is the struggle against entropy on the political level.

Nuff said!

Business as usual

I went for a bicycle ride early this morning. You have to get out early to beat the heat this July. On my way back I could see coming down a hill that two Labrador Retrievers were nosing around in the corner of a maize field ahead. I knew these dogs to be aggressive. Across the road, with his back to me, was a Great Dane. I'd tangled with all of them before. I hoped to sneak by them but just as I got within twenty feet or so of one of the Labs, my movement, noise, caught her attention, and she turned on me. I went straight for her, she ran off across the road and I made my turn left. The second my back was to her she charged. The other Lab was close too and the Dane, old as he was, was gallomping his self hard to get in on the action. The first, then the second, Lab, got a taste of my right foot. I popped both of them in the nose real hard. My knee was fully cocked when I let fly. They peeled off and fell back and I jumped on the pedals, outdistancing them. I could hear and see the Dane out of the corner of my left eye. His huge nails scraping on the asphalt added a funny kind of staccato background to the deep throated rumbling that he issued for a bark.

Meanwhile, up ahead, a pickup swerved in order to run over a large snake. I pulled up and these two guys, young construction workers, watched this corn snake in its death throes. I asked one guy who got out to take a picture, to stomp his head. Put the creature out of its misery, you know. He ignored me, concentrating on his cell phone camera. The driver said there was a board in the back. It was a two by four about four feet long. I stradddled the thing and bludgeoned its head to a pulp and wished all a good day as we parted company. It was friendly. Just three guys having a chance encounter over the death of a feared reptile.

Its not easy losing the love of your life and then getting attacked by a pack of dogs and then having to put a snake out of its misery.

After what I have gone through in the past two weeks I thought this was somehow a double bad omen. And, last night, I dreamed of rats.

Oblivion

Isn't oblivion where I came from? Isn't oblivion our greatest fear? So. We fear our origin? Passing into that great unknown the idea of not being remembered haunts us. We fear not having anything to cling to. We want order to reign, not chaos. The whole thrust of our being seems to be to stave off entropy. Abhorrent dissolution! This is the fiendish chain that binds us and this in a way is liberties opposite.

Liberty is a universal, a principle. That something is a principle means it is a force. Love, as principle, posits love as force...of nature, on a par with gravity. The same holds for all concomitants of sentient life. Always there are forbears who have struggled with these eternal verities, trying to see a clear path through an absolutely impossible maze.

Reading of Soren Kieerkegaard for instance: The soul is like a channel that opens into the sea. The closer to the sea the wider the channel. The boundaries of the individual soul increasingly dissolve as the "channel" merges with the sea. On meditation the personal soul resolves into the spirit of God, the cosmic soul. This is true transcendence and is not available to those trapped in subject/object modes of being. Those that have consigned their spirits to a "having" existence as opposed to "being". Freedom is in being in the world. Slavery is in having objects in the world, in mere materialism.

The tone of this is that the sea is the repository of great joy, which I think is true, but for most of the lives of most people this great all encompassing sea is the abyss, the void that swallows up all purpose and meaning. It is oblivion, chaos, entropy. We have vehicles for coping with this and to follow that path the abyss becomes full not empty.

Faith is a vehicle for coping with our seeming estrangement from the real itself. Guilt is this same estrangement from reality. The Christ teaches us that there is a way out. Jesus said I am the way, the light, and no man cometh to the Father except by me. Here he is disembodying himself. He identifies with the "Way" to God and with the "Light" itself which illuminates this path. So, the way to God and the light shining thereon are principles too, and Jesus Christ was a living embodiment of those. In other times and other places, across the entire Cosmos, other beings live that also give a living body to these same universals. Isn't it a necessary truth that there are many "Christs"?

Just wanted to get that off my mind.

Travel Log

I had been working on the "K" bike for over a week. The steering head bearings needed replacing and the windscreen function had to be repaired. I wrapped this up on June 5 and packed up my stuff and left for a trip north on Saturday, June 6, 2009. It had been pretty hot with temps in the low 90s and on day one that held true for my entire run straight up I-35. I made it to Wichita, Kansas the first day. The wind was at my back the whole day. I think it was gusting at least 30-40 MPH so you can imagine I got real good gas mileage. I stayed in a Days Inn near down town Wichita. I had stopped at several motels and all the desk clerks had been Indian or, who knows, Pakistani, so I kept going. These were cheap places, or should have been, but I have a distinct aversion to motels run by middle easterners and try to avoid them. But, of course, you have to take what's available and when the clerk at the Days Inn turned out to be Indian I just threw in the towel and paid his exorbitant rate of $62 plus tax. The next morning I passed a Motel 6 displaying a rate of $40. It was all of three blocks further down the road.

I have, in the past, stayed in lots of hotels/motels with Middle eastern, mostly Indian, hosts. I recall one in Houston, I think it was a Hampton Inn. I was on a business trip then so I could have stayed anywhere. This made a lasting impression on me because they didn't even put soap out in the rooms. I guess they were afraid someone would steal the "extra" bars because you had to go to the desk and "request" soap. I have had other similar experiences with these people. Their business plans include such extreme parsimony that you have to wonder if they change the sheets and towels.

Sunday morning it was noticeably cooler. It was overcast with light clouds too as I resumed my run up I-35. Well, its called 135 here cause 35 cuts off to Topeka which is north east of Wichita. I went straight north and crossed I-70 where the interstate turned into US 81. This highway took me to I-80 in Nebraska where I turned west. I-80 runs across Nebraska and Wyoming and at this stage it was my intention to head north again in Wyoming with a vague goal of going up into Montana. Well, it got cold and stayed cloudy all day Sunday. It threatened rain, and I did encounter mildly wet conditions such as wet roads but I never ran through rain myself, just a little behind assorted storms. I made it to North Platte by about five p.m. and you guessed it, stayed in a Motel 6 hosted by a white guy. I noted to the clerk that Motel 6's always had white people hosting and he said that had something to do with the fact that Motel 6 is owned by Accor, a French company. The rate was $36. That night I watched the weather closely and could see that I was in for some cool and wet weather for the forseeable future. We had the tropical jet stream dumping moisture off the south Pacific across the western half of the country with similar pushes of conflicting air masses off the northwest Pacific, across Washington Oregon and to top it off a real strong arctic air mass was falling down the globe to challenge these other two. The next morning I met some people on a Harley from Alaska and they said it was real cold up north with lots of snow still. They were headed for Florida and thought I was silly to be headed north. Oh well!

Monday the parking lot was wet and it was in the upper 40s I think with highs in the 70s expected. At this time I still intended to do some camping starting just west of Cheynne I thought, in a state park there. This was not to be however.

I suited up in my full winter regalia pretty much trying to be water proof and cold proof as well. Here is a picture of the bike at a rest area on I-80 west of North Platte, Nebraska.



As far as the eye can see it is lush green rolling prairie. Nice. So I got to Cheyenne and lo and behold there was one of those tune to your a.m. dial, so and so frequency, for urgent message about road conditions...when the orange lights were flashing. I didn't have to have gas but decided to stop anyhow to check this warning out. I bought the gas and was checking the bike for anything that might be wrong when I saw a huge gash across my practically new front tire. I could pick up one corner of the tread and peeling it back expose the inner layer of the tire, the cords underneath the tread. Well this would not do at all so cancel all plans and replace this tire.

I rode through Cheyenne looking for a motorcycle dealer and finally stopped at a car parts place where a guy in the parking lot directed me to one just down the road from where we were. Lucky strike. Well they were closed. It was monday and this is what these businesses do I have noticed. They are always open on Saturday so they take Mondays off so they can have a full weekend.

I didn't know what to do except wait so I went to a motel across the street but instead of checking in we looked in the yellow pages and one of the ads gave hours for Mondays. It was a Kawasaki place and just a few blocks away so I rode over there and met Mike Ault who said they didn't keep the tires I needed in stock. He could get one for me by the next morning however. Before leaving on this ride I knew I'd have to replace the rear tire sometime during the trip. It was getting near the end of its life so we decided to do both tires. He said they'd be there by 10:30 the next day though the rear tire had to come from Texas. So next day I showed up at the appointed time and by 11:30 I was on my way. Total cost was $459 including $80 for shipping just on the tire from Texas. Mike expected $40 shipping, which is what he quoted me, and that is what he charged. Nice. I put Avons on. Avon Road Riders.

So in Cheyenne I ended up staying in the Guest Ranch Motel. They had a Motel 6 but this was closer to town. It was a decent sort of place. The lobby was full of orchids. The clerk, a real honest to goodness red blooded American, said his wife kept those and I met her the next morning and she told me some about the flowers when I went in to get coffee. The room was a little cold at first but warmed up nicely with the free standing portable radiator. I don't think the main heat was working but nevermind. The weather report looked pretty grim and it was here I abandoned hope of going further north. It showed snow and freezing temps west and north. I considered turning around and heading back the way I had come. I considered going south. Denver is a short run down I-25 from Cheyenne but snow was predicted along that path too and I really didn't want to go to Colorado anyhow. It wasn't until the next morning that I made my plans. After talking to a couple of local people at the Kawasaki place while they worked on the bike I decided to circle Colorado. I would go west through Laramie, Wyoming and turn south into Utah at the earliest opportunity. Maybe I would go to four corners. It had to be warmer there, but maybe not too warm, and I could camp at Gooseneck state park on the San Juan river.

So I put on even more winter stuff adding another layer underneath what I had worn yesterday, and hooked up my heated gloves for the ride across Wyoming. It was cold and it rained on me some but not a lot. I sort of dodged thunderstorms all day that Tuesday and the next day too.

The last time I was out here, I think it was 2007, I took Wyoming 130 out of Laramie to get over the Medicine Bow Mountains there. 130 goes right by Medicine Bow peak which tops out at 12013 feet. The pass is at 10847 feet. I knew this would be blocked by snow this year, or at least the roads would likely be icy. In '07 the snow was maybe fifteen feet high on either side of the road; but the road was clean. That too was in June.

I-80 west of Cheyenne takes you through these mountains too but I didn't encounter any snow at the lower elevation I-80 runs through. Not quite cold enough...but close. Just past Rock Springs, Wyoming you come to US 191 which goes right past the Flaming Gorge Reservoir on the Green river. I was in really dry country but there had obviously been a lot of rain and the desert round about was as green as you will ever see it. At the Utah line I took some pics.



I took this pic here too. You can just see some small puddles of water on the road there.


And this one.


And this is just down the road.


The above is right at the dam which is rather small I guess. Here is the dam. I was a little nervous crossing this as the roadway was full of metal apparatus, rail road like tracks for moving gates and assorted dam superstructures about. If you don't know wet metal on roadways is a bike hazard deluxe. Hard to keep traction on wet metal.


After leaving Cheyenne at 11:30 a.m. I guess I did ok arriving in Vernal, Utah about six p.m. just south of the flaming gorge...now full of water. It must have been really beautiful before. I think I am against daming up every river especially if it is just to attract developers and/or increase the tax base for government.

It is 366 miles from Cheyenne to Vernal. I took this picture to illustrate the threatening skies along my path. Somehow I managed to miss most of the rain once I got into Utah but the roads were mostly wet and I had to go slow on the extremely curvy roads.


And here is a picture of my room in Vernal. It was a Rodeway Inn...hosted by Indians. There was a Motel 6 in town but it was $69. The Rodeway was $50. I engaged the clerk and his wife in conversation. We got off into the economy in India. I learned that the Rupee was backed by gold...haven't checked this. I thought that was good. The man asked what backed the US dollar and I was surprised he didn't know. I loudly proclaimed that nothing backed the dollar. He seemed perplexed. I said nothing but the faith and credit of the US government which was headed south as fast as could be. I laughed and told him if he and wife had voted for Obama I wanted my money back on the room.


I was really tired so the first thing I did was get some ice and make a drink and THEN started to unpack the bike. I carried one bag in and went to get another. The door to the adjacent room opened and pot smoke billowed out as a young girl exited and walked to the passenger side of the car there next to me. I greeted her. She ignored me and quickly got in the car...for safety? Right behind her came this young guy. I didn't even look at him, just got another bag off the bike and took it into the room while they backed out. Just as they were driving away I came out and saw some folding money on the ground. I picked it up and chased them on foot but they were gone. It was $60. I thought about chasing them on the bike but it had straps hanging off it, and I couldn't get going fast enough. So I nursed my drink and noticed that the truck parked in front of the subject room was from Texas. Some kind of oil field contractor I surmised. Shortly another young guy exited the room and headed for this truck. I asked him about the money and he called his friend who would head back over from his dad's. This second fellow had been living on per diem for two years. His job was to x-ray welds of pipes that go into wells. He was from Pasadena, Texas.

I just about finished unloading the bike and the first guy shows up. He told me the correct amount of money he lost and I returned it to him smilingly suggesting that if he didn't smoke that "stuff" he probably wouldn't lose his money. He was not offended by this but I could tell he didn't know what to say so he just said thanks. I told him he was very lucky a person from Texas found the cash cause anybody else and he would never have heard about it. I asked him if he too was from Texas and he said Oklahoma. "Close enough," I said, and let him go. This guy is maybe 21 years old. The Pasadena chap was looking on for all this and found it very amusing but kept his cool and remained silent. It was a very friendly exchange with me playing the role of the surrogate father which I enjoyed very much. What do you want to bet that $60 was proceeds of a drug deal and further that the dope came from the dad of the young guy with the girl?

US 191 out of Vernal doesn't go straight south. It meanders off to the West a third of the way across Utah before cutting back to the east. I got an early start that Wednesday, say about 7:30, and went out to see what would happen. After coming down out of the mountains again I ran through this kind of country.


And this.


It was still cloudy with lots of rain all around but not much directly on lucky me.


Lots of rain here too recently. More than normal as you can see from all the green.


And this though it is a little blurry.


And here is the best picture of the trip I guess. I actually stopped for this one.


That one is pretty close to Moab where you'll find the Arches National Park. This was a stunningly beautiful ride made all the more pleasant by the unseasonably cool and wet weather. You could not ask for a better run on a motorcycle than I had that Wednesday, June 10, 2009. I made a note last night about this, you know, one of those reflective mood notes I like to indulge. I lost the note when I shut down the computer but the gist of it was that the world is full of beautiful things and there is not time to touch or hold all available. We are blessed because in a grain of sand resides the whole of creation and likewise in just one fine experience, with a clever fusion of mind the whole of reality can be brought to the front of a simple landscape. You know, where you feel you have it all just in having this little bit. All of the real informs every instance of experience. Is this satori? You decide. I just make this stuff up!

It's 320 miles from Vernal, Utah to Bluff, Utah near four corners. Rand McNally estimates the driving time at 5 hours 40 minutes. I left Vernal about 7:30 or eight and checked into the Kokopelli Inn in Bluff at 6:30. Stops for breakfast, gas, talking on the phone, rest area pit stops, taking pictures, etc., sure adds up. I remember trying to hurry because at this stage, in the morning, I intended to camp that night at Goose Neck park. As the day dragged on it got hot so I nixed that option. I guess that pretty much ended my fantasy about camping, at least for this trip.

The Kokopeli Inn was quite an indulgence for me at $76. It was by far the nicest Inn I used on this trip. It was here I met a guy on a Harley, didn't get his name, but he had traveled up to Yellowstone and Glacier national parks. Yellowstone, he said, was inaccessible because of snow. I'm glad I didn't go to Montana. I've been to Alaska on this bike. Montana can wait. Besides I was there in 2007 but riding my R90/6. On that trip I recall it was 100 degrees the day before I rode through Missoula and in the 30s next.

Anyhow I was up and out of Bluff pretty early. After buying and adding half a quart of oil...oh, that's how I met the Harley guy. He took the extra oil off my hands. I didn't want to carry it and he needed some anyhow. Come 7 a.m. I was on the road. It stayed cool a good while, and cloudy. This is serious desert here and it cools down fast at night.

This is in my path. I have to go over.


I took US 54 off of US 191 out of Bluff and followed it all the way to Raton, New Mexico. This is a very scenic route and goes from extreme desert conditions to lush green mountain valleys to high rocky crags sheathed in snow. It is a very challenging road for motorcyclists, quite narrow in the mountains with so many switchbacks and steep grades up and down that it makes you dizzy.

On the run outside Taos, just west of town, I shot this picture of the Rio Grande River. That gorge seems like about an eighth of a mile deep.


I could launch on how the hippies have ruined Taos, and especially with their earthship housing project out here in the desert near the Rio Grande. It is truly disgusting and all the more so because they delude themselves so abysmally with all the "sustainability" crap. If you are interested do a search. These people, that generation, MY f-ing generation, has ruined this country, or has bust a gut trying. See Obama in the WH! They were at this bridge above in full regalia, beating drums, playing hippie music, hawking the wares dredged from the abyss that is their degraded souls. Nihilists. Solipsists. Godless. Their self loving leads inevitably to self loathing and that is the center of their reality. They all need to be put back into the food chain. Seriously! Well I launched anyhow. Sorry. It is reflexive.

On the other side of Taos 54 climbs immediately up to Angel Fire and Eagles Nest. Coming down out of the pass I stopped for an apple here. There were a lot of people fishing this mountain stream.


Remember I mentioned all the switchbacks? Here is a nice shot of my "chicken strips". That is the part of the tire the rider is afraid to use in tight cornering. Now, I think mine are pretty narrow but you decide. My knee wasn't scraping the pavement exactly, but it seemed if I reached out with my hand I could probably pick up a pebble or two. I don't know.


OK, so it took me all day to go across New Mexico. I took the business loop at Raton, New Mexico off of I-25 and stopped at the first motel I came to after passing up the Holiday Inn. It was the Maverick motel, vintage, I guess, 1940s. The grounds were well maintained with lots of petunias along the drive and across the front of the office. Picture:


That is the view from my front door. Between here and the distant high ground is Raton, New Mexico. A woman was sitting outside in one of the chairs you see there. She greeted me with a thick accent and quoted a price of $47 total which I snapped up. Her name was something like Zorka, with an umlaut over the "o", I think. I asked her before getting her name, in German, Sind sie Deutsch? She said no, Czech. Oh! The office was full of her crochet items. They were very nice and I would have bought something had I had a way to carry it. Everything was large and she stiffened the items with sugar to form bowls for flowers and things like that. We hit it off, so to speak. Her husband, Nick, was from Croatia. He came to my room to show me how to operate the heater which I would need though it had been hot all the way across New Mexico almost, except for the mountains, of course, and the early morning over on the east side. He said it hadn't rained in a year and the desert outside town looked it too.

My room was very clean and I took to it. I like this carved headboard.


My stuff laid out in the bath.


And this is how I lived for the week. Only two restaurant meals, both breakfasts.


I think I was the only guest that night. In the morning I made coffee in my room with my camp stove and was on the road by seven or so. By noon I was in Amarillo and it was hot. I chased the asphalt to Lubbock and beyond but by the time I got to Post, Texas I couldn't take any more of the heat so I took a room in the Deluxe Inn which was somewhat overpriced at $50 total and not well kept compared to the Eastern European hosts in Raton. There were a lot of flies in the room and though the air conditioner worked it was obnoxiously loud. I noted and commented on the Hindu shrine set up behind the desk in the "lobby". I named one or two of the dieties, Ganapati, Ganesha, the elephant headed one, the Little Lord, and one she said was Krsna I noted did not have enough arms and that maybe in the U.S. he was less powerful. I would have recognised him had he had seven or eight arms. Krsna is the great Lord, subsuming all the others who are like angels, so to speak, if you have to compare to western religion. He is the one in the Bhagavad Gita (Song of the Lord, the Hindu "bible") who instructs Arjuna on how to pray. The lady wore a poker face during this exchange but I had the impression that not many guests offered comments on the Hindu religion, especially comments indicating intimate familiarity, for a westerner at least, with the Hindu pantheon. I spoke to her about bhakta, told her that as I understand it, a bhakti practices bhakta, i.e., love of the lord, and her response was that Bhakta was also a surname which I responded that it was but not as popular as, for instance, Patel, to which she averred. Actually I met a Bhakta last month I told her. He was a host, what do you know, at a motel in East Memphis I had the misfortune to stay in. I didn't tell her, but it was implied, that a Christian is a Bhakta too, in as much as he is one who loves the Lord, and that this is true vice versa.

I meant to have a restaurant meal that evening in Post but my first choice, a BBQ place, I could see by the parking lot, was too busy. I went to the south side of town...took me one minute from downtown, and found an interesting, locally owned hamburger joint. Sometimes these can be real finds so I tried it but after 30 minutes they hadn't started my order so I got my money back. There was hardly anyone there but about five minutes after I arrived the whole town, it seems, showed up and my order got lost in the shuffle it would seem. No problem. They comped me the Dr. Pepper. I didn't make a scene and like it or not had a much better experience at the McDonalds...except, of course, the burgers sucked...but the service was fast and friendly. After two burgers and fries I walked to the supermarket a block from the room and got one of those bags of fancy lettuce and a tomato and ate a big salad.

From Post to home is not that far and I determined to get an early start to beat the heat so at four a.m. I was up. I again made coffee in my room and with that in hand opened the door to check out the weather. It was warm. I could ride with just a shirt on top. Funny thing, there was a U-Haul truck towing a car pulling into the lot when I looked out. The driver got out and went to the door of the office. Wanted a room I guess. At four a.m. Hmmm! The door, of course, was locked and as he climbs back in the truck I close my door and resume my preparations to leave. A minute later I still hear the truck and go out to put a bag on the bike. He is backing up, trying to turn around. His girl, they are both twenty something I guess, is trying to help him do this but it is obvious they are not practiced truck drivers as they keep jackknifing the car. I don't want to watch this, so back in the room to brush my teeth, having finished the coffee. In a couple of minutes I come back out with another bag and the truck is gone. But not the "kids". They are both running around the parking lot waving their arms and yelling at and trying to corner what must have been the most obese cat in the world record books. It ran here and there with its huge stomach dragging the ground. Really, every bound and this huge sack of fat would swing first to its left and then to its right. Funny and pathetic at the same time and the owners seemed as inept at catching what must have been the world's slowest cat as they were at backing up the truck. Well I felt myself getting pulled into this situation despite my strong intention to not even acknowledge these fools. So back in the room fast where I resolved that the best course of action was to scram out of there as quickly as possible. One more bag, and a couple of little items to tend to. I put my helmet on in my room made my last check and locked the door behind me. I mounted the bike and the girl emerges alone from the shadows down to my left. No sign of boy or cat. She is barefooted and trots across the parking lot towards the street. Her butt crack is just visible above her way too tight jeans. There is some loose gravel around and that had to hurt her feet. I pulled in behind her and just a little too close and carefully followed her to the street both of us ignoring the other as much as possible. The guy is standing on the side walk and she joins him there as I pull out and give her the gas.

It was a little after five and there was a waning moon with a large planet dogging it in the heavens above my head. Another very bright planet was on the eastern horizon and after a bit you could just make out in the east the first fingers of dawn creeping up the firmament. With the whole Texas pan handle behind me I was riding through a tremendous array of wind turbines with red blinking lights on top. These stretched from horizon to horizon and were a definite blight on the terrain but they were soon behind me too. Everything was soon behind me, because five hours later I was home. I'll be looking for you in my mirror. Come on, let's go!