June 2, 2001
Conclusion
The ride from Amarillo to Austin was the closest we came to actually getting hurt during this trip. We fell asleep in our $29.99 roach motel around 1am and got up around 5am to head for home. We stopped somewhere - but I can't even remember where any longer - to get breakfast and then we just rode. We took 27 south to Lubbock, then took 87 all the way to 71 which leads straight to Austin. Once we got near Lubbock, the weather warmed up enough to be comfortable. We also experienced some nearly deadly road construction. The combination of our near total exhaustion and bad signage had us clipping a curb one-right-after-the-other. That was harrowing, but the bikes were fine.
An amusing moment came as Garrett and I were riding side by side. He had opened his visor to let some air in and it flipped off his helmet and landed behind him. I am pretty sure that wasn't what he was expecting. The sight of Garrett looking at me in total bewilderment at 70mph is not one I will soon forget. I had to pull over because I was laughing so hard I almost lost control of the bike. I pulled over, and almost fell off the bike laughing. I had to sit cross legged while Garrett backtracked to get the visor just to catch my breath.
It is important to mention that this part of Texas smells like horseshit, and if you open your mouth, it tastes like it too. Yum. We also had the privilige of being followed by every Buford T. Justice in every dumphole town we rode through - and the nice lady at the convenience store was kind enough to shush her daughter when she said "mommy those men stink." Yeah, I may stink, but I can take a bath and your whole TOWN reeks . .
Somewhere along 27 south I lost sight of Garrett. It scared me a little, but when I turned around and didn't find him it at all it scared me a lot. When I did find him it was about a mile and a half behind me and he was just sitting on the left side of the road on the grass median looking at all the burs in his pants. He looked like he was in shock. Garrett had literally fallen asleep on his bike and woke up as it went in to the unpaved median. Amazingly, he had the presence of mind not to panic. He rode it out and slowed it down without losing control. He had burs buried in his jeans, his shoes and all in the engine. The bike was off, so we let it cool and I helped him pick the burs out of his legs, shoes and motor. He was shaken, but no more than I was. On the upshot he did have enough adrenaline to make the rest of the trip with his eyes open the size of half-dollars.
The last and final experience on this trip epitomize why I ride and why I don't really care for so-called "bikers," at least the new ones. There was a motorcycle rally in Austin the weekend of June 2, 2001. As we got closer to home we saw more and more motorcyclists on very nice, very shiny, expensive Harley's. We had stopped for gas and to get some fluids in "Nowhererelevant" Texas when we noticed a very sharply dressed couple standing next to a $25,000 Harley. After telling us how tired they were, "we've been riding for nearly three hours" the man told us that his bike had broken down and the group he was riding with would be back shortly with parts, or support, or a latte - I am not sure which. He also made some passing remark about how great Harley's were and how great it was to ride with a group. "Right" I thought - looking at the both of them . . what total losers. If I want to be in a group I'll get myself a mini-van. Garrett and I rode on, he stopped off at his job to tell his friends about his trip and I just went home. I would like to think we learned a little about each other and a little about ourselves. I would like to think that the clarity, the focus, the inner quiet that comes from having no one to talk to and nothing to hear but the roar of the pipes made some difference in the grandiose scheme of things. I know this - I have a little more respect for my brother and a little more admiration for him after this trip, hopefully he feels the same about me.
Well, that pretty much wraps up the 2001 motorcycle trip. Garrett and I are planning to have one per year - with any luck for the rest of our long and happy lives. If it is a good one, I will send you a sequel.
Live free, ride hard
Scott