The Ride To Texas
Made great time, but even GOD rested on Sunday
May 24 & 25, 2003
So, with my goodbye's said, and my "in case
of brutal death" letters written, I headed out. Tonya took this shot just
as I was pulling out of the garage. The first hour of the ride was
probably
the worst, I spent it riding the same streets I ride on weekends, except now I
was just flat paranoid. The irony of being killed in the first hour of a
20 hour trip was just too much. It was also Memorial Day weekend, and I
didn't want to get run over by a drunk.
I took Hwy-19 all to Tallahassee, very much like we did when Tonya and I visited my uncle in Tunica MS. The ride wasn't bad, I averaged probably 70 most of the way once I got past the worst of the development. I think Weeki Wachi is about where 19 stops becoming ONE LONG STRIPMALL and actually turns into a road you don't mind riding on. Even so, it still basically sucked and I think Hwy 19 is the worst part of the trip (more on that later). For now, just know that it was a long, dark, boring ride - the only good part about it is that it is only two tanks of gas from start to finish. Keep in mind that the total trip should take about 7 1/2 tanks.
I did let the bike rip a bit once I got close to I-10, there is a little backroad at Lamont you can take to get to I-10 and I snapped through the gears pretty quickly. I got a little front wheel lift in 1st and wound it up to about a buck-twenty before idling back down. Sometimes a quick burst of speed is just what the doctor ordered to break the monotony, and since the sun hadn't come up yet I was still feeling a tad groggy.
Once on I-10 I started to enjoy the trip. The sun was just coming up at my back and there were patches of pretty serious fog, both of which made the scenery fun. The trees seemed greener than they would in broad daylight and the pavement had a bit of a bluish tinge to it. Most of the time I kept within 10 mph of the local traffic. Note, I didn't say 10mph of the speed limit, as most everyone on I-10 is driving somewhere between "I have to get my birthing wife to the hospital" and "I can see the Four Horsemen of the Apocalypse in my rear view mirror, speed traps be DAMNED." The police will tell you that 'going with the flow of traffic' is not an excuse for speeding, but that is only because they don't care about your safety or anyone else's nearly as much as they do making their quotas. We should vote that other crimes be paid with by fines and give cops quotas on Domestic Disturbance, Public Intoxication, Battery, Child Abuse, Sexual Assault, etc. Traveling is not a crime and it shouldn't be taxed - period. Let me tell you, you are a fool if you don't blend in traffic. If you are on a bike, you had better be leading the pack. . .
For those unfamiliar with I-10 and this part of the United States, I-10 is long and somewhat boring. The scenery in Florida isn't bad though, gentle rolling hills and lots of trees, plus 100mph pickups and tweaked out truckers to make things interesting. The longest parts of this trip are getting out of Florida and getting out of Texas - as everything in between is just a thin sliver of a state. No sooner do you enter one than you are leaving it (except Louisiana - GOD I hate riding through Louisiana). About an hour or so past Tallahassee (which you never really see because of the trees) you come to Mobile Alabama. As ALWAYS there was light rain when I went over the bridge and then into the tunnel in Mobile. After that the ride on I-10 is quite boring until you get to the swamps in Louisiana - which is more than a couple of hours away.
I was looking forward to acquiring the 1,000 mile stare and had expected that by the time I got to Louisiana I would have it. That wasn't the case at all. I stayed hyped for something like 24 straight hours. Encouraged by my own ability to keep from getting killed and anxious to get to Garrett's house I completely avoided the zen mental state that I love so much.
Regarding riding in Louisiana - their highway sucks. I hit a chuckhole (2 actually) that could have hidden an SUV in it. The road is awful, the traffic is awful and the heat / humidity combo blows.
There is a little town just past Baton Rouge called Grosse Tete. I have NO idea why they named the place Grosse Tete, it sounds like a bad joke to me. In any event, I had just come over the bridge and was noticing that the passing of time had slowed down. What I am describing is the feeling that significant time has passed, only to look at your watch and see it has only been five minutes. Since I had been riding something close to 10 hours by now I felt it would be good to stop for more than 5 minutes and actually eat, take a whiz, and load up on water.
Everyone always comments on how New Yorkers have seen everything and are rattled by none of it. I don't know if that is true, but I will tell you that truckstops see more varieties of people pass through their doors than most subway stations. Furthermore, the people who work in truckstops probably have stories that are interesting, or scary, or both. I prefer truckstops that aren't run by some huge conglomerate-corporate-multinational-U.N.Backed-"your money is going to people who hate the U.S."-monstrosity. No, the best truckstops are in the small places that are large enough for a regional provider to eke out a comfortable living and small enough to stay off of the big-boys' radar.
I stopped at what felt like an hour outside of Baton Rouge (which was, in fact ten minutes) at this "see wild animals caged and miserable" truckstop. I have commented on these things before, so I won't rant much here. I will say that THIS one actually had a LITTLE space for their tiger. It was about the size of a 2 bedroom apartment. Still, when you consider that this glorious animal ranges on something like 25 square miles it kind of puts the whole "gee, nice cage" thought right in the toilet. I am not some animal activist - far from it, it just makes me sad to see what this animal is and what it should be.
Basically, we are all caged animals that should be running free - some of us have been domesticated for so long that we have forgotten we don't belong in the cage.
Why is it that the same people who want to see animals freed want humans caged (or taxed, or regulated, or controlled)? Why should the animal's need for freedom be taken for granted, but I have to fight for mine? Oh, wait, that is because animals never decided they needed a government to protect them from other animals, or to wage war with other animals, or to make sure other animals aren't taking substances or performing acts that are 'offensive', or to take other animals as slaves, or to make sure that some animals aren't violating the sensitivities of other animals, or to make sure some animals aren't running too fast, or their teeth aren't too long. How is it, exactly, that we are better off here? Maybe in our desire for civilization we got suckered in to the whole 'you need the government' thing, when in fact all we really needed was some LOCAL guidelines on behavior, and the rest would work itself out in the 'nature' that god, or Darwin (or both) gave us.
Live, let live, and LEAVE ME THE HELL ALONE. (Put that on my gravestone, will you please?).
Rant = "off"
So, back with interesting, or scary, or both. I stopped and degeared in Grosse Tete, and here is what I observed. Very fat, but otherwise very ordinary people. Truckers, a few hunters, some locals and a couple of dorky dressed dads in minivans, proudly carrying their babies strapped on to their chests since god didn't give them a womb of their own (god I HATE those guys).
I
stopped and ate, and decided here was where I would take my first pictures of
the trip. The waitress (she was so much more though - I will never forget
you, whatever your name was) couldn't seem to get the camera to work (it was a
cheap piece of shit), so she handed it to me. "Sure, it works" I said,
"see?" and 'click' here is the first shot taken - my waitress / cashier / love
toy in Grosse Tete, LA.
I am a sick little boy and god will punish me
I am sure. In the meantime however there is plenty of fun to be had.
J
So, once my mistress-of-pleasure and I had
finished
our little tryst in Grosse Tete, she took this picture of me and I was back on
the road. Hey, Love'em and Leave'em smilling (see picture above). I set my
motorcycle to 'boogie like a big boy does' and about 25 minutes after leaving
Grosse Tete I was approaching the Texas border. News in Louisiana reported
a FAST Yellow Blur on I-10 and the accompanying sound of an angry swarm of bees
attempting to force intercourse on a high performance sewing machine.
I love Texas and I always will. To me, Texas
is home, and I doubt most of us really know what that means. It is
like saying "Earth is home" when you are living on Pluto. Pluto may be
nice, have
terrific skiing and ice sculptures (along with one HELL of a night time sky) but
home is always home. No matter where else I am (and I plan on being in a
LOT of places before this stint is done) I am always a Texan. I feel
closest to my identity here. Everywhere else I go I feel out of place,
like a stranger. That is a good thing, in that when I move back to Texas
it will probably be to stay and I want to see more of the world than that - but
still, home is home.
Invariably, the best riding is also the worst for photographs (the whole 'two things at once' thing). The ride through Houston was very, very exciting. Basically, they don't like motorcyclists in Houston and more than a couple did their best to kill me. You can take the most hardened street rider and put them on I-10 in heavy traffic and his or her pulse will most assuredly go up. In Katy (used to be a town but now is just a suburb of Houston) Texas I stopped and got gas. After that it was off to the races. I made some amazing time from Katy to Garrett's house. No kidding, I came VERY close to finishing out a tank of gas in an hour. I-10 past Houston is a no-mans land, and past San Antonio it is more like the surface of Mars than earth (but more on that later - remind me to tell you about the fat-man-and-the-H2).
So, without too much grief (though I did get lost once I got off of I-10) I arrived at Garret's place. Garrett hadn't been expecting me for another six or so hours based on the original schedule, but I had been calling him throughout the day to let him know of my progress so it wasn't that big a surprise. Garrett's first words to me weren't "welcome to Texas" or even "Hi," no Garrett's first words were "I thought you said you were growing your hair out."
We then went out to see amateur stock car races and basically knocked around a little. That was all I can remember about Saturday. The trip was done and I was exhausted.
On
Sunday we got up, had breakfast, made sure we were packed and I swear I can't
remember more. Garrett introduced me to a new friend - Theresa - she seems
very nice. Here they are killing a Sunday evening together.