Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

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Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Bucket list, schmucket list.
It could be ^that ^ which motivates, but that is only if I am playin’ all high-fallutin; putting’ on “airs” and such. I have told myself that it’s the bucket list that pushes me to reach out, and partly true though it is, it is really something more primal and earthy. The fear of death? Ahhh, not quite, but the envy of not doing it all, gettin’ greedy. The Envy of Living.

Screw the half full half empty. I want it overflowing. More than once. Make a mess. A bard once said: Nothing succeeds like excess. How true that is.

Down South we have dingle the size of skateboards. We’d kill them with a stomp, but to hear them crunch, well, better living through chemistry, right?

We hit them with RAID. Once hit, they run all berserkoid, often into the face of DANGER, then go to obscure places, lay on their backs and with great swagger and vigor, radiculate their legs like krazy in the air, in mortal combat with the reaper himself. (Aside: it is important for your household, but not for my metaphor, to kill them DEAD right then because as the guy on Chef Menteur Hwy, who was changing the oil on my Harvest gold 1970 Chevy Impala coupe, told me-in truth about flies, but it applies to roaches, “They have great recuperative powers.” How true that is, too.)

Life is that can of RAID. I am that roach, and if I’m not killed, I flail about the country in obscure places, wheels spinning, “woo hooing,” and livin’ large.
Enough preamble.

Blanche DuBois was now over a year in my possession and I felt I had worked out her problem of depending on the kindness of strangers (with gas cans) over the 15k miles she and I spent together

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Two weeks off in January and Big Bend beckoned, though my fear was Big bend beckoned as Ahab did. I watched and watched the weather and though there were a smattering of days in the 20s and 30s, there appeared a warmup on the radar just when I would be off. It was now or never. I lucked out and the weather held until the last day on the ride home. Cool in the mornings and 60s-70s during the day. Sunny and dry until the very end.

In the early morning, Zero Dark 15, I departed New orleans, making tracks. I knew I had to slab it, and I would not, as usual take the alternative to the barbaric crassness of I 10, US 190. It was out of my way. Miles and miles were on the menu today. That first night I landed in Seguin, Tx, and old town outside of San Antonio. I saw none of the history in this "cradle of the Texas Rangers." I still had to move.

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I stayed at the Best Western (it wasn't the Best western). Here was where I started a file that has been very useful subsequently. That file, "note" really on my phone, is entitled "things easily forgotten." The first item on it is a USB cable--I travel with technology. I have the list of all the stuff I want to take, eg 4 pairs of socks, scotch, etc, but even with the OCD of doing one of these rides, things can still be forgotten, hence that list. It works.

Early the next morning I depart now heading away from the abomination of I 10, going south, and on backroads.

123 to 97 to 85 to Corrizo Springs then 277 to Eagle Pass on the border for lunch where I stop at Danny's
From TripAdvisor

#21 of 64 restaurants in Eagle Pass
3 of 5 stars 5 reviews
“Badtaste!” 10/27/2013
“Nothing to brag about” 03/14/2013
Cuisines: Mexican

I didn't see that before I stopped, otherwise I may have ridden on, but that was NOT my experience at all. I thought it was good, esp considering it was just road food and I needed to move--I am sure some wag is going to suggest that stopping at such a place could very well result in "movement" of a different sort, that though I had to run, I didn't want to run in the third definition of the word. None of that happened. My guts and I agreed and nothing ill came about. This is the place where I started to be called Senor and would be for the next week. English was a second language now and blondes were in short supply. The people could't be nicer.

I hit the road after lunch on my way to Alpine. and I get on one of the best roads of the trip. It may be that it was the best road "so far" on the trip though. 277 to Del Rio and then US 90, that at home is Gentilly Blvd and Claiborne Ave, into Alpine. US 90 is also part of the Old Spanish Trail.

Del Rio is a place that lives in yore for those of us who grew up in the 50s and 60s. It was the home of

X E R F DEL Rio, Texas and the Wolfman, Wolfman Jack.

from Wiki ( and the way I remember it )
Wolfman Jack (1962 to 1964)[edit]
With the birth of rock and roll and its promotion by disc jockeys such as Alan Freed, a new interest was taken in the unrestricted superpower airwaves that were available in Mexico. Alan Freed had originally called himself the Moondog after hearing the name used by an experimental street musician in New York City. Freed not only adopted the name but used the recording of a howl to give his early broadcasts a unique character since he was featuring African-American music that was getting a great reception from America's White teenagers.

One of Freed's fans was Bob Smith, a disc jockey who also adopted the Moondog theme by calling himself Wolfman Jack and adding his own sound effects. Smith took his act to Inter-American Radio Advertising, who sent him to the studio and transmitter site of XERF. It was here that Wolfman Jack invented his own style of border blasting by turning the airwaves into one long infomercial featuring music and off-the-wall products.

Wolfman Jack gained a huge audience which brought in enough money to not only pay the bills, but to cause bandits and corrupt officials to also take enough interest in taking over his promotions for themselves. As a result Smith began to pay his own security force to protect him, because although he lived in Del Rio, Texas, because of the Brinkley Act he had to actually broadcast from the station itself in Ciudad Acuña in Mexico.

Lawlessness and death[edit]
According to Arturo Gonzalez there was a shootout in 1962 in which one person died. In another incident in 1964 two people died. No one was ever held accountable for the deaths. It was following the second gun battle when Bob Smith decided to leave for XERB, another border blaster located across the border in Tijuana, but within earshot of Los Angeles, California. It was this station that George Lucas featured in the 1973 movie American Graffiti.


The Wolfman himself
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The Wolfman passed in North Caroline in 1995. Sic transit The Wolfman.
The memory of his voice and late nights listening to him before falling asleep... I will never forget, so being so close, I ride through Del Rio, looking for billboards advertising XERF.
I see none.

I expect dusty potholed streets glinting in a mid winter sun.
I see that not.

I see what looks to be a town on the move up??? Lots of new construction and good roads through town. I see no local color. I am sure that a block or so off the beaten path I will see what I stereotypically imagined it would be, but not from my Get-To-Alpine-This-Afternoon vantage point.

I leave Del Rio on 90 and was not expecting what I found. US 90 was terrific fun. It weaved and swerved and was deserted for much of the way to Alpine. We're talking 85-90 mph. The elements of law enforcement I saw was the Border Patrol, no other, and they were frequent and could care less about me.

I rode on and landed in Alpine for the evening, a very cool little town, and a very nice dinner at the Reata Restaurant. I stayed at the Maverick inn and it was very nice with an AWESOME breakfast of hand baked goodies--nothing Best Western about this place.

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Sleep is restful and quiet, though some complain of the train traffic through town. It was no big deal, and to me the sound of a train in a south Texas town during the night only adds to the appeal of ride.
Chappy Dent (from Happy Texas): Three most romantic sounds in the world: plane engine, a ship's whistle, and a locomotive's horn. Somebody once said that. Or maybe it's the three loneliest sounds
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Catchina »

Looks like the start of another fantastic adventure :biggrin:
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

The next morning the ride begins in earnest. I'll be in Big Bend this afternoon, but most certainly by a roundabout way. I'll ride to La Linda (The Pretty) on the Rio Bravo (Rio Grande). Actually not La linda; you can't get there from here as it is in Mexico and I arrive at via interrupta.The route, FM 2627, skirts the eastern side of Big Bend though not in the pack. It ends at the river where a bridge used to exist, but now exists only as a series of barricades and warnings and barbed wire, that and desolately beautiful country. The US side is clean, whereas the Mexican side could use some sprucing up.

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It was a fine temperature this January day, but anytime after early May must be brutal.

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The Rio Grande from this bank; the Rio Bravo from the other side

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The high rent district of La Linda

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Across the tracks in La Linda and the former US entry portal

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The Rio Grande (Bravo) was very scenic wherever I saw it, clean flowing cool water, usually shallow, usually narrow, so many places to just walk across. On every road that touches the border I saw Border Patrol driving, or sometimes set up with diverting stations stopping every vehicle, asking the usual questions, sniffing out stuff with a very serious German Shepherd. I was a bit teased about my LSU sticker deep here in Texas, but it caused a smile when I said my son goes to A&M and I was always sent on my way. And I was on my way to Big Bend National Park.


I enter the park and start heading in to the center of the park and my digs for the next few days, The Chisos Mountain Lodge, the only place, other than camping, to stay within the park.
But, Big Bend is REALLY out of the way. I mean REALLY. But as you travel there, or as I travel there I get the sense that I am heading into an international territory. You're not so much in TEXAS as on Planet Earth. It is like southern Utah in that sense. You have the sense that rather than being on someone's tour bus, snap snap, you have the road to yourself, your thoughts to yourself and there is not one other soul for 10s of miles. The topography is strange enough that you could imagine yourself in Morocco or some other exotic place. It's just different. And it is most definitely wild.

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From Trip Advisor on the Chisos Mountain Lodge:

“Mountain lion tried to eat my son (on the lodge grounds)”
1 of 5 starsReviewed December 8, 2012
While walking back to our room from dinner at the lodge, a mountain lion attacked my son. The lion took my son from my wife, who was holding his hand, and dragged him into the bushes. I was able to stab the lion with a pocket knife to get him to release my son, but he's lucky to be alive and only have minor facial scars as a result.

If you stay here, you do so at your own peril. The combination of low lighting (so as not to ruin the star gazing), "natural" landscaping (bushes, trees, etc), the smell of food (from the restaurant), abundant water from the treatment facility for the lodge/employee housing sewage and the local lions' constant exposure to people without negative consequences (habituation) make this place unnaturally dangerous. Don't believe that you are safer here than in the wilderness - the opposite is true, and if you read the history of lion attacks in Texas, you will find a majority occur in this area of Big Bend.

CML did provide us with a first aid kit to dress his wounds, helped me pack my bags into my truck in time to follow the ambulance to Alpine, and refunded us for the night.


The ride into the Chisos Mountain Lodge brings you into the center of Big Bend and it is a stunning ride, just beautiful. Otherworldly.

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You are off the grid here. No cell, no wifi, no TV, There is electricity and food, but not much else. And that does have its own appeal. The CML though is one of those places whose electrical outlets were designed by Luddites in protest to the 20th century. I carry an extension cord just to deal with that, and it came in handy here for a starry night timelapse.
I check in and nest, have some Balvennie 12 and head to dinner, but there's a little setting up to do for this. Do it full screen for more detail

http://youtu.be/zgtqHiC-9SY

John
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

I rode down to Boquillas Canyon on the river and found this self serve knick-knack stand. It was late afternoon and as the sun went down the sky turned blood orange. Not much traffic and though the roads were nice there were not a whole lot of challenging things to deal with in the twists and turns department, but again it was so different in topography and seeming so far away from Texas or anything looking "United States," that the adventure dial was up way high.

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Maybe these things were there to ward off evil spirits, but it looked like they were maybe for sale, though no money was around; no people either
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The next morning on my way out for a day ride I took this sign. Yes, probably snakes and things that go bump or snarl in the night, too.

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I stood too close to this and those spikes are sharp as needles and VERY stiff. One went right through my pants and lodged itself in my thigh and broke off. A little choreography was involved getting it extricated.
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Typical road, typical scene
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The Old Broken Windmill At The Sam Nail Ranch - long since deserted

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and back on the road
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and heading toward St Elena Canyon whose sheer walls rise 1500 feet from the waters of the Rio--that's it way off on the right
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To get there though you must pass the Mule Ears and Sotol Outlook
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And I was the only person there...so much of Big Bend felt that way, ie that I was the only person there. To be sure there were a few places that were the "destination stops" where there were groups of people, but along the roads, and that's where a motorcyclist spends their time, you are all alone with this strangely beautiful countryside

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and on the way to this place...St. Elena's. Elena was a second century concubine to Emperor Constantine's father, also a Constantine, and as such she was the mother of Emperor Constantine of "in hoc signo vinces" fame. She also, at age 80, undertook the search for the True Cross in Jerusalem. There are lots of things named after her, including this canyon.

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The Rio Bravo/Grande as it exits St Elena's Canyon, cool, clear and green

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Mexico is a stones throw, a short wade away
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and back to the lodge; though right here I was listening to an interview with Mary of the Jimi Hendrix song, The Wind Cries Mary. I think on NPR??? She was supposed to meet him the day he OD'd--totally random remark
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more coming
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by wncbmw »

Honestly, Doc, I don't see how you can ride so far, take great pictures and post it all. How do you do it? Great pictures!
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by sjbmw »

Stunning pics, great history, great reporting. Thanks.

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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by captaincable »

Nice work with that camera and looks like a great ride thanks for sharing.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Thanks, I appreciate the nice words.
Van
Semi retired--working about 50-60% of the time, and I can set the schedule so that I can have 2-3 weeks off at a time; took 40+ years to get to this point though, so I am making the most of it :D MLW approves and that's a very good thing

Camera work...the bar is set pretty high by many members on this forum and on ADVrider--eg Joe Finn and others like my good friend GypsyRR when she used to report. It has been a hobby since 1968, and I love what digital has brought to the table. Film is dead. I try to be sure, if I am stopping for a picture that I get the one I think I want. I can be fooled though, and that's where the delete button or Adobe Lighroom comes in. All are "touched up" but they are done with what I thought I saw in mind, rather than what the camera saw, two different things--except for the obviously bizarre ones

I like to throw in the history because it adds texture to what is otherwise a road map, and often it is pretty interesting I think. I sometimes make up some of the history, but that will be facts that are obviously suspect. So far in this one I've confabulated nothing. ;) Really.

I've never done an iron butt, nor have come close, 700+ miles is the closest, but I am accused of that by some riding buds--though on these I always go it alone. A Corbin seat really helps and I've started wearing compressive over the calf socks (20-30 rating), because riding tank to tank WILL lead to lower extremity dependent edema by the end of the day. It goes away in 30-45 minutes of stopping, but still...DVT IS a complication of long distance motorcycle riding and we need to be aware of that. I take a baby aspirin every night.
And to do these rides in the time allotted I have to sometimes/often make some significant tracks, and I loathe interstates--esp the ones around here, read I 10, unless absolutely necessary. But being on the road like this is a meditative experience and tends to recharge batteries and outlook.

The feedback is much appreciated. This report has FAR to go as there is another ride that is MUCH longer that I did a couple of months after Big Bend--the Crater Lake ride. That was a major ride and it's coming as part of this report.
Thanks again

John
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

The time came to leave. I tried to stay on another day but the lodge was booked, so it was time for my boot heels to be wandering. The weather was still holding out though far to the east there was trouble brewing in the form of a winter ice storm, but that was for another day.

I headed out and in the direction of Big Bend State Park, which is adjacent to Big Bend National Park. The plan was to ride along the Rio on River Road, aka TX 170, over to Presidio then north. This routed me through Terlingua, a strange little town that seemed to have a sense of humor. I couldn't quite figure it out, but I knew it was my fault that somehow I didn't get it. As I rode through, through osmosis I suppose, I started to get it. Terlingua is a town on the edge. It's on the edge of everything, going Waaa Waaa Waaa Waaa, arms flailing, full of laughter and never tipping over, enjoying the brink.
from surgent.net
FM-170 is a 120-mile scenic highway starting in Terlingua, near Big Bend National Park, and passing north along the Rio Grande through some of the remotest lands in the United States. Nobody gets on FM-170 by mistake. It is arguably the most scenic highway in the state of Texas, rivaling those near the Guadalupe Mountains or even those in Big Bend National Park.

outside of Terlingua
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Some visitors stay there and I suppose that could be ok, but for another trip.

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Tx 170 was a cool road winding along with the Rio and up and down some pretty stiff terrain. There is an old movie set along the way where The Streets of Laredo was filmed.

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Continuing along 170 I arrive at a unique rest area
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And then I reach The Hill. The Hill is a major grade, I don't know that actual percentage, guessing 15%ish, but the road part of it is not a problem. The problem is the parking area at the top. From the top affords long distant views of the Rio Grande, Texas and Mexico. Very pretty, BUT...it is very off camber in directions that are not conducive to "just pulling off" and stopping. Thought has to go in to where you'll stop. And the color of the pull out is a shade of gray that makes perception of the grade very difficult. So, I pull in and I can see and feel the grade so I don't actually stop until I can safely put down the sidestand without tipping over. I congratulate myself. I take pictures.
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I suit up and am ready to pull off, but I cannot get the bike up enough to get the side stand up. I struggle, and struggle some more and with luck get her off the stand. Catch my breath. Start the engine and I plan where to head because starting off will be an adventure. I start moving forward and I discover a new game, a game similar to Rock Paper Scissors, a game I will play on Alpine Rd outside of Palo Alto in a few months, a game I will lose...both times.
The game is Physics Skill Intellect. Physics always wins, BUT..knowing what you're supposed to do helps put physics on your side. Skill allows you to actually accomplish that, ie to again, put physics on your side. Physics is a cruel mistress though, and any slip and this happens.

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There was no way I was going to right her. She was implanted downhill. I wait for a white knight. And up the road come 6 on big touring bikes, Harleys, BMWs, a Gold Wing. I wave them down and they pull in and when they stop 3 of their members are snared by the beast of The Hill and fall over on stopping. So now there were 4 bikes to right.

Ouch

But with lots of muscle all get righted and other than some relatively minor cosmetic issues no damage done. Chatting done, we say our thanks and goodbyes and I get shoved off starting in the right direction.

I stop in Presidio at a Mom and Pop (Mamma e Pappa) restaurant; again greeted as Senor, the only English speaker in the place and it is very cool. I walk outside to the local fauna

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of course a Chihuahua and a Chihuahua mix and an abandoned shopping cart next to a Mexican license from, where else? Chihuahua.

I have reached the westernmost point of the trip and now turn north, officially heading back. On US 67 I pass the ruins and remains of Shafter, Tx, a previously bustling silver mining town founded in the late 19th century and going strong until the end of the second world war. Shafter at its height was 4000 souls. Closure of the a couple of nearby military bases and the inability of the mines to remain prosperous in the economic climate of the time took a severe toll on Shafter and now she boasts a population of 11. I made an even dozen when i took these pix. Then I too left.

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Up the road a piece from Shafter is Elephant Rock
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And into Marfa, home to the "mysterious" lights, that have never been adequately explained. The best explanation that I've come across is that they are reflected headlights from cars on a distant road. Experiments have shown that Yes, car headlights can be reflected from a certain distant road and be seen as the Marfa Lights. The problem with this seemingly valid explanation is that unfortunately the lights predate cars. Ruh Roh. I think perhaps Lois Lerner has something to do with it, but that's just me.

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Marfa was a cool little artsy town. It was neat, and the whole area has a lot of appeal. But, it seemed to me that Marfa tried to be artsy just a little too hard...just got that vibe. Alpine, down the road did not put on Marfa airs; didn't try, but in its laid back peaceful coexistence with her sister came out ahead in the cool department, I think. Alpine didn't try to be anything, it seemed, and by not trying, it became cool. Alpine has restaurants and a main street, culture and charm. There is one restaurant, the "Guzzi Up," a new italian place, that was named after a derelict Moto Guzzi that stood in a field outside of Marfa. The restaurant was in an old gas station and the food was very good. Some young people ran it and they were doing a good job and were were friendly and cordial.
I liked Alpine; in the area I would stay there again.

Alpine
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Wiley, Rosie, Victor, Sonia, Lando and Bob Marley in Alpine
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I have to do some slab, but on the way up to I 10 I do the McDonald Observatory loop around the Davis Mountains. This is a fun and scenic ride and if you have time to visit the telescopes it is very worthwhile. It is also the area of the Prude Ranch where the Texas Star Party is held every May. This is a remarkable event in which amateur astronomers from all over the country bring their telescopes for viewing of the night skies. Anyone can go and viewing is free. I've only been once and I remember the deep green color of some deep sky object I was seeing...stunning. I remember looking at a star cluster and the stars looked like a multitude of diamonds in a black velvet bag. This area is one of the darkest areas in North America. How dark is it? I SAW starlight cast shadows. That dark. The road during daylight.

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On the way home now in earnest and I decide I am going to swing through Hill Country and do the Twisted Sisters as i had not done them in a few years and then swing by Cooper's BBQ in Llano before a stop at a friend's in College Station.

I get to 335 and do it. A newly surfaced stretch at the beginning left a fair amount of gravel, but that cleared and it was fun as always
and what is this place on 335???
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I travel down to 337 and maneuvagate my way through its notorious twists and turns--quite regularly riders get killed on this road, and then hit what has always been my favorite of the three 336.

I'm riding along and I feel what feels like gravel underfoot. A little while later my tire pressure monitor starts flashing that I have 24 lbs in my rear tire. I stop, cursing that I picked up a nail or screw.
I examine the tire and see nothing. feel nothing, hear nothing. I check the pressure and it is low. I use one of my CO2 cartridges and now I hear/see/feel the leak.
I plug it---this is the first flat on the road I've ever had, my luck of over 100000 miles busted.
I use the remaining CO2 carts to fill the tire up to a hyperbaric 23 lbs pressure. Nearest station is 40 miles away. I limp there. Get a shotload of quarters and fill the tire and now I see the leak very plainly. I plug again but it is not holding well.
I think that maybe rolling on it will seal the exterior and for about 5 miles that is true, then suddenly I lose all pressure in the rear and my dash board is alive with lights as I see the rear pressure reach ZERO. I manage to some to a safe stop on the shoulder. I fortunately have cell service. I get a tow to the Yamaha dealer in Kerrville where a new Z6 is fitted and I am on my way to Cooper's BBQ making it there by 7pm. Whew.

Before I left the Yamaha dealer I looked at the tire. There was at least a 2" slash into the casing of the tire, visible from the inside. I have no clue how my plug did anything or how the tire held pressure.

Llano that night following RED MEAT, then College Station the next night. All the while the weather has held just fine for this January adventure, but even though I get an early start, within minutes of leaving College Station the rains begin and the temperature is dropping. All but the last 65 miles of the ride was a shivering 36-40 degrees and rain. But I did make it home in one piece, and started to get ready for the next ride, coming a scant 3 1/2 months later and the plan was Thunder Bay and a loop of Lake Superior.

That changed. Radically. And that is the next Step in this Pas de Deux.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

A little over three months later and I was on the road again, this time for a longer ride. Riding home in 37 degree rain got my attention; got my attention real good. Not the first time and it is miserable to ride such.
I had a heated vest, big winter waterproof RevIt gloves and a rain suit. There's a problem with that though. If you wear the rain suit you cannot plug in your heated vest because there is no egress for the power cord to emerge from the rain suit. So I chose to ride with the heated vest instead of the rain suit. There is a "hydratex" liner in my jacket and it actually works pretty well, But maybe, I don't know, I may have been warmer with the rain suit. I knew all along that the big ride in May was the major one, and the Big bend ride just fell into place, serendipitously. The plan was to do something like this

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So, I started monitoring the temperatures in Thunder Bay, having seen story after story about the ice on Lake Superior and the ice caves and essentially temperatures that rivaled those of the of the north pole of Titan. I saw LOTS of 36s. Looked at cams and saw lots of gray skies and I wussed out. I did not want to deal with the cold. And I have been watching Fargo (set in Bemidji) on Fx and I would be going through there, and true it would be May, but May up there is not the same as May down here. I wussed out and I looked westward.
I loved riding in California last year during late May, though it was 28 degrees and sleet/snow in Oregon and that cut my trip from its anticipated destination and sent me back down the California Northern coast. A great ride though, so that could be an option. I had 3 weeks and that could cover a lot of territory. So, it would be California. Not Thunder Bay...this time.
As I got into it I realized that with a little luck in the weather department I could continue my trip from last year. As it turned out the weather held and I did much of what I tried unsuccessfully to do last May.

So, I wound up doing this...sort of, but with lots of good roads--This is a gross rep of my route, not accurate

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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

There is a rule that one should never be out of town on certain holidays. That includes even those fabricated by a greeting card company. Thus, my planned date of departure was the day AFTER Mother's Day. Being the dutiful son and husband and grandfather that I am I did the buffet with much of the family at the "tennis club." In the background though, nearly all conscious thought was centered on an early am exit. The day started a little iffy as a pretty heavy thunderstorm delayed me by about 45 minutes to an hour. Ok, second cup o' joe, watch the weather. and by 630a I am on the road.

The first day was going to be somewhat brutal in that it would be mostly slab and involve going through some good sized cities, Baton Rouge, Shreveport, Dallas, Fort Worth and a planned overnight in Abilene. 685 miles. I've often expressed my dislike for I 10 and especially that part going through Baton Rouge. There is always construction. there is always traffic, it always feels dangerous. I get through in one piece and the rain that delayed me is now a memory as the sun is out.

After Baton Rouge, going west you can avoid some of the hell that is I 10 by splitting and heading to a parallel road US 190. It's smoother, has fewer trucks, has fewer LEOs, has less traffic and will get you to I 49 N which is far better than 10 and boasts a speed limit of 75. I always take 190 if I can and as I do I am greeted with what I interpret to be an "auspicious start" to this trip.

I pass a pretty decrepit white pickup with a camper on the back. There are some innocuous stickers on the back. It only demands a passing glance as go past and I see an old hippie, a Duck Dynasty look-alike guy driving with his "woman" in the cab. I get far enough ahead that I don't think any more about it. I cross the Atchafalaya Spillway (again FAR FAR better on 190 than 10) and I see the pickup coming up quickly on my left and as they now pass me, I catch sight of the passenger, the driver's shortie, grinning at me. I look over and they are BOTH grinning and nodding in their best Grateful Dead bob and with those BIG feces consuming grins are BOTH very clearly flipping me the bird...the finger... oh, I get it!!! They are in fact giving me the ADVRider "salute!" I too grin, and realize they are members of the same "club" and saw the ADV sticker on Blanche's derriere. I return the salute after pulling up my visor so they can see my smile. We both are nodding now and then the moment is over, until about an hour later when now we are both on 49 and I pass them again, having stopped for gas. We wave now and then go our ways.
I thought that was pretty neat though and thought it bode well for the trip, and as it turned out it did.

However, by early afternoon the weather was beginning to look threatening again. I don my rain suit in the heat of NE TX, climb back on Blanche and continue on ! 20. Slight drizzle off an on, but not oppressively hot, I get beyond Dallas and to the west I see dark skies brewing. Beyond Fort Worth the dark skies appear to be getting closer, I still have on my rainsuit, I check the weather on my XM and it appears that I will be going north of the weather, but I know that XM weather is AWFUL at reporting anything close to factual. It pretty worthless in fact.
I ride on and within about 15-20 minutes, now the skies, and this is by now about 215? 230?, the skies are getting black. I think about stopping under an overpass, but don't. I ride on and suddenly, and I mean suddenly the skies opened and I was in major rain. The Interstate slowed to a crawl. My visor was fogging and if I opened it the rain stuck to my glasses and blew around them. It was blinding, visor up or visor down.
I could not see the road underneath me. I could not see white lines marking lanes nor shoulder. I was afraid to pull off because I just could not see where I was going. I was afraid to stop with fear on being run over from behind. So, I found some tail lights and followed them and they went off at an exit. I followed.
The frontage road was flooded.
How flooded was it?
Standing water was washing over my boots on the pegs. And I could not see the surface of the road so whenever the water washed over my boots, it was SURPRISE!. After about a mile of this, the rain slacked a very very little, enough to see a signal light...and then a gas station. I pointed Blanche in that direction and made it to a pump with a small overhang.
That's when the lightening started. I needed gas, and I was afraid the area would lose power, so with lightening crackling, with milliseconds delay between flash and rumble, I filled my tank, knowing I was playing with a bomb, a fuse close by.
The lot was beginning to flood. I went inside the station and huddled with others who were waiting it out. Moore, Oklahoma was close in my thoughts. It was so dark. I went to WeatherBug and snapped this. I am the pin in the dark red. By this time it was breaking a bit.

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We were hunkered down for about 45 minutes before the rain and skies allowed travel again. Not far to go, Abilene beckoned. I mount Blanche and hit the road.
I arrive in Abilene about an hour later, in full bright sunlight, in wind. I check in asking the desk person if that rain came through here? She asked What rain? That was a Nope.

I always bring a friend with me on these little outings and this is the friend I brought this time.
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We danced a tango or two and it was time for dinner. My trips are usually not gourmet delights, nor do I hobnob with the glitterati. The Comfort Inn in S Abilene was no exception. The Golden Corral had not won any James Beard award, despite "NONSTOP SEAFOOD 4PM."

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My fellow diners, all you can eat on an un-wiped table with endless fountain drinks, what more could I want? A Garden Of Earthly Delights,

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and it was right by here...in this section of town...come on, admit it...you've passed by here. Local color at its best.
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And a selfie to remember the moment
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Can you say mooove? I did.

So, one day after leaving the swamps, I was in the cowboy part of Texas. I like the cowboy part of Texas. The people are friendly, the landscape is changing, and there is no doubt that I am "on the road" again.

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Backroads now rule the day, though some bigger roads are a necessary evil. Another long day ahead. Just under 500 miles to Albuquerque, have to make some tracks if I am going to do this, but balance that with enjoyment of the ride. It's easier now because I love New Mexico. I've pretty much gone every way from Abilene to ABQ and my favorite is through Bellville, by the abandoned post office, through Tucumcari. But this time I take a more southerly route and through the capital of conspiracy theorists USofA, Roswell. An unfortunate little town in a beautiful area. Just not a lot there, seppin' the aliens of course. Problem is the Rigelians and Beta Pleadians have so accomplished human form that they no longer have any semblance of lizard facies. Unless
unless
unless
you turn real quick like and catch them with the corner of your eye. Those are not green scales you are imagining. And just so you know, no Redbreast Single Pot Irish Whiskey was involved in that.

I use TripAdvisor a lot in choosing my stops for the evening and this time they led me to a pretty sketchy part of town-sketchier than I usually occupy. But, the place is nice and there's a neat old steak house about three blocks away so the evening passes well--and the parking lot was gated and locked...livin large in ABQ.
Things are moving, getting farther and farther West.

It is COLD the next morning. 41, but sunny. I take 40 west to Thoreau and then BIA roads, weaving over to the Arizona border and up to Page, my stop for the evening.
Page is in a great area. Lots of outdoor activities around there and some pretty decent motorcycle roads also. I've usually stayed at the Days inn, maybe the best on on the continent, but they've gotten pretty pricey so this time I tried a mom and pop in the center of town, The Red Rock Motel.

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Yes, looks dicey, but I have to give all props to the young American couple who ran the place. They were exceedingly nice and ran a very comfortable and clean operation. I had a "suite," that meant a 50's style full kitchen, complete with gourmet coffee and good coffee maker, a full size fridge with crushed ice within, and the "pop" part of the duo used to race motorcycles with sidecars in England, so on checkin we talked shop a bit. I recommend them highly and would have no hesitation staying here again. Also, about a block away, they sent me to a very fine Mexican restaurant, El Patio, or something like that, and it was terrific. Page, again, is a neat town.
El Patio
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I wanted to ride along the Vermilion Cliffs-one of my favorite places on the planet, but a landslide last year made the route to 89a impassable without a significant detour, so I would ride 89, another very nice ride over to St George, Utah and then down to Las Vegas.

The closer I got to Las Vegas, the more I called it just "Vegas," And then unnaturally for me, it morphed into "Vegas, baby." Before I knew it I found myself channelling Sammy Davis, Jr, snapping my fingers in a dealing cards motion, looking up Mai Britt on Facebook and trying to friend her.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by sweatmark »

Dear Doctor, superb storytelling, as always.

Dare I suggest a western states meetup in the near future? There might be enough Roadster souls still around with interest in - or needing justification for - an adventurous ride and rendezvous. Maybe Utah.

Otherwise, the next time I learn of your impending travels through my state, don't be surprised if I fling the spike strip across your lane in order to create a handshake opportunity. I'll toast to your safe journey with a favorite PNW craft brew, while you hoist a favorite whiskey.
Rockster#2, K1300S, S1000R (for sale)
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

sweatmark wrote:Dear Doctor, superb storytelling, as always.

Dare I suggest a western states meetup in the near future? There might be enough Roadster souls still around with interest in - or needing justification for - an adventurous ride and rendezvous. Maybe Utah.

Otherwise, the next time I learn of your impending travels through my state, don't be surprised if I fling the spike strip across your lane in order to create a handshake opportunity. I'll toast to your safe journey with a favorite PNW craft brew, while you hoist a favorite whiskey.
Fair enough...I hear that 101 up your way is pretty scenic, but it is SO FAR away.
I would welcome the op though.

John
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

In Albuquerque two days prior I departed with heated vest, winter gloves, liners, the works. It was 41 degrees. And the sun burned brightly.
Now leaving Page and headed to Vegas (baby), I felt as if I were swimming through a Coronal Mass Ejection from the same sun. Utah wasn't so bad though it was warming up. But after St George there is one way to get to Vegas (baby), and that is I 15. It is hot along that way.

on the way to St George
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I 15 was actually a pretty interesting road for a slab, pretty terrain, winding and going among very large boulders. But there was construction. And there was heat. I used my cooling vest (BMW Cool Down vest) and it worked pretty well. It was 98 degrees, but my chest felt cool at speed. I 15 goes through through Bunkersville, NV where that old coot did battle with the Federales over grazing land for his cows, unpaid taxes, conspiracy theories, and generally the Federales inhumanity to man, no wait, we don't have federales, right? We have The Feds. But we do have Old Coots. It was had to tell who was more in the wrong, though Vegas (baby) oddsmakers gave the "over/under" for @$$holes at 6 at the open, though that quickly went to 563. Then settled at around 1512.
I got into Vegas, baby, in mid afternoon and stayed on the west side. I did get to ride through town though not on The Strip. Wasn't there for that, Just passing through, Wayne Newton and Cirque du Soleil, catch you later. No time for Ocean's 11, or even Ocean's 7, 8, 9 or 10.
I did have a destination though in the area and that was Red Rock Canyon to the west of the city. I downloaded my stuff at the La Quinta, and headed out to RRC. Something surprised me about Las vegas and I liked the surprise. At least in the section I was in, there were lots of wide well paved boulevards. There was lots of new construction, traffic flowed smoothly and fast. It was a fine city place to have a motorcycle. I am accustomed to riding in New Orleans with its narrow streets, myriad stop signs, obstructed views, streets that rival some off roading I've done...Las Vegas was not like that, at least the part I saw and that was very nice. I digress.
I plot my route to RRC and 10 miles later I am there. Typical national park scene with a big loop road, but it was nice and considering it was the first tourist stop in my trip of thus far about 2000 miles, I was ready to get off Blanche and smell the roses or cacti or whatever nature's bounty had to offer.
No surprise here...many of the rocks are, wait for it....red.

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I head back to the LaQuinta and take a swim, alone in the refreshing pool. Then I meet up with my Redbreast Irish Whiskey, Then just across the parking lot at a terrific tapas restaurant to close out the day.

When I get back to the room I soak my down vest and then put it in a plastic bag and put it in the fridge to really chill it, because tomorrow I'm gonna do Death Valley.
And there's a heat wave going on.
later
John
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Death Valley on the horizon.

When in the planning stages I posted to advrider was I crazy to think I could cross Death Valley in mid May. Uniformly I was told go for it, but the caveat was always there: It could be hot. Didn't expect this heat though.
I plan my route.
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and then
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I depart Las Vegas, early and ride along Red Rock Canyon on my route to Shoshone, Ca.

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Arriving in California is always a neat experience, it's like the burden of Will I Actually Make it is lifted. I know I am not at the ocean, but the sense of accomplishment is still there, and the next such sense won't occur for a couple of days and hundreds of miles and for me that would be crossing the Golden Gate Bridge. Seeing the Pacific, smelling the Pacific is a thrill also, but not quite the same in my experience.
Anyway. I wrapped my nearly frozen cooling vest in a plastic bag liberated from a waste paper bin in my room. Tied tightly, I mount is out of direct sunlight, but easy to get to. Cuz it's a dry heat, right? It really doesn't feel that hot, right? Actually, the presence of more humidity, I think, brings the temp down. Heat is heat.

I get to Shoshone and do not take the easy route of 190, but rather the ominous sounding Badwater Road, Ca 178. And the temperature starts to climb.
I had been watching the temps before I left and mostly saw 80s and some 70s and rare 90s at Death Valley Junction. However DVJ is at over 2000 ft elevation and the temperature is far more temperate there than in the valley, nearly 300 ft below sea level.

I watch the temps on my dash and promise myself that I will stop for water and to put on the vest when it reaches 90. Finally at around 95 I actually do stop.

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The terrain seems almost monochromatic with gaudy Blanche standing out like a cheap trollop among the Little Sisters of the Poor. It was the glare. Washing everything out, Like I was traipsing in Tatooine.

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or Burning Man
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But, wait. I AM the soon to be Burning Man.

I drink some water, I don my cooling vest. a car stops to make sure I am ok. I put on my suns behind my tinted visor, and I get going again.

I watch the temps climb, hitting 100, then over 102. The elevation is dropping. In fact it is no longer "elevation." It's depression.

Along Badwater Road the lowest I saw on my Zumo was "-281" feet. I took a picture of that but I can't find it! :-X

As I was taking that picture a coyote crossed the road right in front of me, maybe 10, 15 feet away. He loped, tongue hanging out of his panting open jaws. He was one beat coyote!

I also saw, but did not photo when the temp on the dash reached "109.4." It was hot. A dry heat. Like a convection oven.

If I knew beforehand that I would see temps of nearly 110 degrees, I probably would've changed my route, but I would have missed an exceptional vist to a unique spot on the Earth, and, I would have still wanted to go, perhaps never to see it. It was so glaring though, that it was hard to really see it and it wasn't until I got home and saw my pics that I realized how starkly beautiful this place truly is.

There are a couple of turnouts on Badwater Road, and one is to a place called Artist's Palette, where minerals in the soil colored the hills in pastel shades. And it was where I met the Swedish Bikini Team. And it led to a road that I think, thus far, with nearly 150,000 miles of motorcycling under my belt, is on the short list of the most fun roads in the US, or maybe anywhere?

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As I am getting ready to leave Artist's Palette an SUV pulls up and there disembarks 5-6 very comely young women, guessing 19-21. Through the glares of the Fires of Troy I try not to obviously glance in their direction, and my glance remains. A young blond guy gets out with them, the only male in the bunch. I envy him. The girls are shapely and very attractive. In my mind I roll over the subtle differences between a glance and a leer and decide I am "glancing," and those that would think a leer would cross my face are just haters. I continue to glance.
The girls are sort of giggling and standing around in close quarters, some on one leg with the other bent at the knee. Get the picture? I am wetting my, um, ear buds and putting them in and then my helmet.
A smiling brunette walks over to me and with my aural orifices now sealed I can't hear hear, BUT DESPERATELY WANT TO.
She apologizes that I am taking off my helmet, and out with the ear buds.
NO PROBLEM, I assure her.
They had seen me putting away my "big a$$ camera." She asks if I will take their picture. Well, sure!
I do.
Then the guy asks if I would like him to take mine.
Of course, "but with the girls." Only three come over, but hey!

Here they are with me (not leering). The girl on the right I can tell is givng a thumbs up, but I think the photog caught her before it was fully up. That's what I think.
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I ask how was he lucky enough to be traveling with such lovely companions and he tells me they are all from Sweden and are touring the US. We chat a little more and then pack to go, and what I have coming up is the little ride, short but SO SO SWEET through "The Scenic Twisty Canyon Drive" that exits Artist's Palette. This road was GREAT. It was one way, very narrow, maybe 8-10 feet across? good surface and it wound between hills and boulders in a very tight fashion, but not so technical that you couldn't just have the time of your life. It was arguably the most fun little stretch of roadway I have ever encountered. On the map it doesn't look as winding as it is. I don't know if you ever wanted to do this as a child-or an adult-but to roller skate down hallways that twist and turn with walls on either side of you and the sense of flying through. That's what it was like. It was so cool, and totally unexpected. If you're ever there you MUST do this. No pictures. No where to stop.
This is it on google earth, but obviously no justice done to the actual experience of it. Unfortunately, it is far too brief.

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So, back on Badwater road, I head on in the bake-a-potato-in-your-pocket heat. I take a right at 190 and head SE toward the Zabriskie Point, and climb over 5000 feet.
I suppose I really didn't think about the topography of Death Valley before going and other than knowing about the heat and the feet below sea level I was an ignoramus about it. What I suppose I could have known if I thought about it is that "valleys" are between mountains. Death Valley is no exception. But what was exceptional here is that those mountains rise abruptly from the lowest spots on Earth to 5000 feet. So that means some pretty striking views. Zabriskie Point and later Dante's View are two such areas that overlook Death Valley and view the mountains dozens of miles beyond.
The ideal time to see this is supposed to be sunrise or sunset, but midday wasn't so shabby either.

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yours truly
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I descend Dante's View and head back up 190 and leave the relative comfort of 98 degrees, and descend into the 109.4 degrees crossing the valley, now in the later part of the afternoon so I get the sun in my eyes.
I am heading to Lone Pine for the evening, and cooler temps. ON the way I get to fill up at a California gas station and deal with the trickiness of the "environmentally responsible" nozzles. What a pain. What works for cars is far from "friendly" for motorcycles. Thanks California for keeping the planet safe. =D>

Outside the motel in Lone Pine and I think Mt Whitney
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And tomorrow is another day...
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Sunbeemer »

Lovely scenery!

I've had to look up some things in your narrative - like DVT (Deep Vein Thrombosis) - I guessed "diverticulitis" :lol:

Your photography is amazing, as usual, and I'm thoroughly enjoying the ride. Thanks for taking the time and making the effort. =D> =D> =D>
Rich
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Thanks, Rich; hope things are going well for you.
next installment coming.
John
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

There were lots of Germans at the Frontier Best Western, socks and sandals, shorts uniquely the wrong length, seeking the rays of our nearest star to warm their spaetzle colored skin. And very nice. And talking a little too loud, and guten abends all around. So, I felt a little "something" riding a Beemer. I received no notice, other than polite nods. Maybe because I had "helmet head."

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At the restaurant in town I did see a woman, Californian I believe, walking around with a portable toilet in a box. Well, that's what the box said, right there, it said, "Portable Toilet." She and her friend laughed about it a bit, but YOLO, and that is never truer than in California.
I was in this restaurant.
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And I suppose she "emerged" with her portable toilet from the "True Value" across the street. Worth every stinkin' penny I am totally sure.

I head down 395 and take a right on 178 toward Bakersfield. 178 is a very nice road, scenic, little traffic, desert, but elevated enough so that heat on this day was not a problem. All that and it led to Ca 58
178
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Ca 58 is a lot of fun. It twists and turns, has elevation changes, decent enough surface, for me it was 2nd and 3rd gear iirc. I had no traffic and I could do whatever I wanted. What I did not want to do was lose control and go over the edge. The road wound its way along the sides of those classic California hills, the steep rounded ones that often are covered in brown grasses. There's probably a name for them, this swamp boy doesn't know it, but when you leave the coast they're all over it seems. They make for some wonderful riding wherever they occur. Farther north they make 36 the joy it is, but here they do a fandango, a waltz, a jitterbug and 58 is Ginger Rodgers to the hills Astaire. No guard rails (guard rails are for sissies) and if you go over, well, as Bugs would say it, or maybe Daffy, Watch out for that first step, It's a doozey.
So, alas, no pix of 58. Trust me on this one. you DO want to ride it.

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From there it was on to San Luis Obispo and the prices of lodging near the coast. TripAdvisor led me to the Sunbeam Motel and it was clean decent well-located and cheaper than most. I read on TripAdvisor to ask for a room in the back for quietness, and I got it, the one upstairs at the rear. It had very nice cross ventilation and was quiet, but in truth, there was no noisy room, even the ones on the street; not much traffic. The owner of the place was an Asian guy, forget his name, but he was very nice. Coffee in the room and a short walk downtown late on this Sunday afternoon. SLO dates back to the late 18th century and named after St Louis, bishop of Toulouse, it is the "Gateway to the Central Coast," and lies halfway between LA and SF.

a fellow traveler from along the way.

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It was a neat little town with quite a few local restaurants and what seemed to be at this hour a surplus of pretty girls.

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the bloom off the rose
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Just down the street from the Sunbeam was the staging area for a Hot Rod show that must have been going on. Luckily I had my camera along for walking the town.

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Pontiac 8
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This is the second time I've coincidentally run into an auto show, the last time on a trip to New England a couple of years ago. I have promised myself I would find where one is and ride to it because they seem like they would be a very cool event. There's a big one in Sacramento, but it is during the winter, if I am not mistaken and would be difficult to ride to, I suppose. But, to see these old cars so lovingly restored either as they were on the showroom floor or, as in this case, as hot rods is a lot of fun and should appeal to the Y chromosome or to the second X in us all.

I arose early the next morning, fixed coffee in the room, no bear claws, toast, waffles, hard boiled eggs etc at The Sunbeam. Just coffee in the room...ok, fair enough for the price and location. Today was the day anyway that I had been looking toward, the day I get to ride the Pacific Coast Highway, or part of it.

SLO is well placed to enter it and I enter at Morro Bay. You can smell the sea air well before you see the ocean, but the full lust of the air awaits with the vision. It's thick and it envelops you, you ride through it and it saturates your gloves, jacket, hair. Colors are blues, many shades and greens, many shades, and yellows. Anything else is man made and only specks. At 830 ish on this Sunday morning the traffic is sparce, but as time passed it gets thicker, but never oppressive. Not on this day, yet. There are pull outs for pictures and quite a few of them, but a 31.5" inseam and a 32" seat and a 600 lb package conspire to make dealing with slanted gravel windy lots a bit of a challenge for me. In addition, often returning to the roadway meant lurching upward onto the road from a lower parking area and heading into the road with less than ideal visibility. So, that and the deliciousness of the road itself made me want to just keep riding and enjoying the ride. It was enjoyable.
There were 4 "big deals" on this trip; Death Valley and the PCH were two of them. They did not disappoint, but did come in at 3 & 4. I add that I enjoyed the northern part of the PCH more than the southern part (divided by San Francisco), but traffic was more of a problem on the northern part. Don't read too much into all this hemming and hawing. both were terrific and should be on anyone's list of roads to experience.

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At The Piedras Blancas Elephant Seal view point. These guys molt in May and at many times of the year are solitary and at sea, but here they are en masse. They were mostly lounging, chillaxin, groovin to the groovin and humming thank you...fa lettin' me...be ma'sefff...a g a i n!

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an on and on
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So, around here I am going to head inland to my motel for the evening, the LaQuinta in Mountain View, but at around Pebble Beach the traffic starts getting pretty heavy and Ca 1 resembles the stereotypical California freeway. 15 lanes in either direction and either very fast or standstill. That's the bad news. The good news is lane splitting is allowed and I got to do it for the first time. Woo-d@mn-Hooo! what a treat. I tucked in behind another cyclist and it was both easy and felt safe. As soon as traffic perked up I tucked into a lane. The other drivers were --- or seemed to be--- very conscientious and considerate to us splitters and the amount of time and frustration saved was immeasurable. I was able to do it one other time on the trip. I would NEVER try this at home because our "drivers" would be irritated that I was "getting ahead" of them and would open their doors just out of spite. Seriously.

So then I am plotting a course to the LaQuinta. I see a twisty road that goes just where I want I take it. So I turn off of Ca 1 and head east on Pescadoro Creek Road. What I have found is that almost any road that has the word "creek" in it is going to be fun and this is no exception. No pictures sorry. Pescadora intersects with Alpine Road which joins Page Mill Road and that heads into Palo Alto and then Mountain View. Simple enough, right?

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Except the twisty fun of Pescadoro gives way to the demented twstiness of Alpine with its steep narrow hairpins. remarkable in its convolutions, convulsions, and tricks. A while back, in the Big bend part of this report I mentioned the Rock Paper Scissors analog of Physics Intellect Skill. It was on Alpine Road I lost that game again. Right after a hugely acute right handed turn was a equally acute left handed uphill. It demanded high revving feathering of the clutch, lean and probably resting on the outside peg, and enough speed. I was found lacking in some regard and Blanche flopped down faster than cheap carpet. I had enough time to curse repeatedly on the way down at essentially 0 mph.

Sports cars, motorcycles and cyclists were on this road in small numbers; it was THAT kind of a road on this sunny Sunday afternoon. A cyclist was struggling up behind me. I asked for help and he helped me right Blanche, and then we discussed the road. This was a very wicked pair of turns where I went down. He offered that he didn't know why motorcyclists rode this road because it was so hard, that it was the most technical road between the coast and inland, and thought I should turn around and go back whence I came because it "wasn't going to get any better ahead." Great. He was a local though had a bit of an Austrian accent? An Audi R8 silver passes us. And then a guy pulls up on some sport bike. Didn't see the marque, but it was red and white and black. He was 50ish and in leathers and he knows these roads like the back of his glove. He asks if I'm ok...yes. Your leg's ok? yes. What happened? I told him. What are you going to do, need some help? I'm considering turning around and going back.
Why? This is as bad as it gets, this is the worst turn on this road, no shame in going down here, this is a very tough spot, you made it this far go the rest of the way, I'll follow you.
Sounds like a real plan to me! I am starting on a slant turning left uphill fully loaded. Blanche starts, I am in gear clutch lever in I rev her up big time and let out the lever as he give me a shove and I am up the incline. I keep her in first as I negotiate the first few twists and turns anf then dare second. All is fine. I hear a little buzzing from the left front caliper, but figure it is some asphalt gradeux rubbing, brakes seem 100% fine and when applied the buzzing disappears.

I hear a whirring whine coming up behind be and Leather Man does a wheelie past me. I nod and he may see me or not. A few miles up the road he is waiting, off his bike standing under a tree talking with another rider. We exchange thumbs up as we pass. A mile or so later, that whirring whine and he does a double wheelie past me. this time I laugh out loud. Good stuff!
So, Leather guy thanks for the advice and the help. you made a memory happen. I find the LaQuinta and check in. I go over Blanche and see nothing amiss. Time to eat.

There is not much open on this Sunday afternoon, but I do happen on to the Gobi BBQ. You ever been? The owners are not happy people. Or maybe they are genetically incapable of smiling. It's an all you can eat. No wait it's not that. It's more of:
If You Make Us Cook It, You Better Eat It All.
The way it worked was there were a couple of buffet stands set up with different meats and veggies and noodles and other stuff. You filled up a couple of bowls and then handed it to the morose guy with the chef's hat who was standing behind a flat hot plate that was maybe 5 feet across. He poured some oil on the hot plate then tossed your selection on frying it all together. he then scoped it all up and put it in another plate and put it where you were not standing to be picked up and brought to a table for scarfing down. It was $12.95 I think a pris fixe in a Mongol sort of way.
The food wasn't bad, but warnings abounded. It was not a happy place.
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"you're welcome!"

When I checked out the cashier asked me if this was my first time here. yes. I asked if there were any others. He was from Mongolia, but didn't know. I offered and he agreed with a laugh (the only laugh in the place all day I'm sure) that there was no Gobi BBQ in New Orleans, "not dat I knows of" as a native might say.
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
Well, don't do that-Hippocrates
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Dr. Strangelove
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

I like California. The state is often beaten up because of various political issues like Governor Moonbeam and previously The Governator, because of the "Hollywood" scene, because of the gangs, because of its in-your-face multiculturalism, because of the news media's seemed preoccupation with the her welfare and the implication that it is the other 49's responsibility if she needs help, but under all that, and it is not hard to see that there is a joie de vivre among many of its citizens that just shouts welcome to strangers and encourages all to enjoy the beauty of the place.
For a motorcyclist, there are some of the country's best roads in some of the country's best scenery, and for this Louisianian there is no higher tribute than to say, "yes, they have 'food' there." But in addition to all that, when you plan a trip to California you can get excellent and friendly information about routes and where to stay and, he!!, if you play nice you may find yourself with a personal guide once you arrive.

As I was planning this ride, I realized I would have to somehow "deal" with San Francisco. The hills really worried me. My nightmare was on a 20% grade at a congested 4 way Stop, trying to turn left and losing the bike under the angle and the weight. I went to the regional forum for California on ADVrider.com, an excellent resource. I got tons of help, but none more so than from inmate Jenn who offered to meet me outside of town and ride me across avoiding the 'steepitude' of the streets.

We met on the Great Highway, had lunch then she told me her proposed route, through the Presidio, the Legion of Honor and the Golden Gate Bridge that she informed me was FREE in the direction I was going, North.

My guardian angel
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Even though we were avoiding the major grades there were still a couple along the way to contend with, but the way we arrived at them, they were no problem.

The GGB is a heavily trafficked thoroughfare. We hit it just before 3pm, I think, and I felt a little tense, I felt the grips, until I saw the first tower looming and I distinctly remember thinking, " Relax! Look where you are! You're riding across the 'maternal intercoursing' Golden Gate Bridge!" realizing how far I had come to be in this spot at this moment. A moment of a lifetime, fa'sure. I licked up the moment like a bloodhound finding a vanilla ice cream cone just for him. I slurped it. Made noise. I had fun.

Jenn pulls into the viewing area, and I knew there were many and this was the one that is the most well-known, but it was just fine and it was not at all important to wipe the grin from my face. New Orleans to San Francisco via Death Valley and the Pacific Coast Highway. Yee Haaa.
She takes a couple of shots and I take a couple. She has to go back to work. But, Advrider Jenn thanks for the ride!

full helmet head
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That evening I will make the final course correction for the rest of the trip. This is where I would decide whether to go somewhat farther and turn around and meander through California beginning my way back.

OR

Try to finish what I started last year but could not finish because of 28 degrees, sleet, snow and a dead battery.
I chose the latter after consulting Weather Bug and hoping with a little luck I could this time make it to Crater Lake and then, if luck held out, the Palouse in Washington state.

I stay the night in Petaluma and eat at a great Italian restaurant, Caffe Giostra, unlikely set in a strip mall, but the real deal.

The next day I again hit Ca 1, but before long I

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So, I am heading up to another place I missed last year though I did try to find it, The Avenue of the Giants, a beautiful road winding among towering redwoods and paralleling 101. It's late afternoon and the light slants through, but even at midday, the rays probably cannot penetrate the lush canopy.

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I spend the night in Fortuna, though the weather did not smile that evening, gray dark clouds and wind, no rain. The restaurant was right next to the motel and the young man at the desk told me that the "best restaurant in town" was right across the parking lot, the Eel River Brewing Company. It was ok, good beer, good food, very crowded and bustling, and peanuts on the table, throw the shells on the floor, that kind of place. What I did not like about it was it was one of those restaurants that because they cater to a 20/30 something crowd they feel the NEED to play the music LOUD, so everyone has to shout, and the music is VERY heavy on The Allman Bros genre. OK, I grew up with the Allmans. I saw them twice, three times and once when the rafters of the Columbia Coliseum (SC) had a "peculiar orange glow." So, ok, I get it, but why can't restaurant music move on? these people weren't even born yet. Are they just getting there for the first time? And why does it have to be so loud? And isn't EVERY Allman Bros song about one third too long? I wanted to hit the >| button so bad.
Tie me to the whipping post, indeed!
Sometimes I feel like I'm dying and among peanut shells

I plan my route for the next day, possibly to make it to Crater Lake.

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I investigate the routes with the good people at ADVrider and was advised to take the fabled Ca 36 and not 299, but I took 36 last year, and wanted some "strange," so it was 299 to Weaverville

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A cute little town at the crossroads of 299 and 3 and where the guy at the True Value needs to get either his Lexapro or Xanax dosage right because his affect was billiard table flat and Charlie Manson, if he weren't in prison, could have walked out with absolutely anything. I got two AA s for my SPOT and I was on my way up 3, a really nice and very rural road, but fun nonetheless.

Nature being all around me, I felt her call and decided to stop for a little break. Just happened to be in the neighborhood of Mt Shasta, resplendent on this spring day.

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Blanche DuBois and Mt Shasta
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I down a Clif Bar and guzzle a bit of water and I am good to go. Oregon beckons.
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
Well, don't do that-Hippocrates
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Dr. Strangelove
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois 2014: A Pas de Deux

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Leaving California I was in somewhat familiar territory. As I referenced, last year, during the same time in May I was in this neck of the woods heading to Crater Lake and beyond, but again, riding 97 - a fairly boring road, that gets you from Pt A to Pt B efficiently, but with little excitement - into Klamath Falls as the temperature was dropping and by the time I reached the Microtel, I had ridden through 42 degree rain, and though now drier, the temps were still going down, ultimately I watched the cover of my bike blown off by wind gusts, and I saw white precipitation that resembled snow or sleet. I checked the weather as I planned on heading to John Day the next day, but saw cold rain forecast for the next few days. Ditched plans and headed away from that.

This time, however, the Alkyonides smiled seductively, whispering "do it, do it." I rode on at Klamath Falls and toward Crater Lake.
It was in Klamath Falls that I first encountered the gas station nymphs of Oregon, flitting about the pumps like moths to a flame.
In Oregon (as well as New Jersey???) you are not "allowed" to pump your own gas. You can be fined $500 for doing so.
I researched this a bit and although arguments are offered that vary from these are make-work jobs for a slumping economy to the last vestige of the long-gone "full service" stations to concern for the environment because drivers cannot be expected to refuel in an environmentally conscientious manner, and other even less believable scenarios, bottom line is when you pull to a pump there is an etiquette.

I did not get the memo.

I pull into the Flying J or Flying A Hole, whatever, and pull to a pump. I can't hear anything, ears plugged, helmet on, turning off engine, etc. I see these late teen/twenty somethings almost darting among the pumps. I first thought they might be some organized group looking for donations, that many and that much movement, but saw the Flying A Hole uniform on them and thought they were just people from inside the attached oh-so-convenience store out among the pumps, cleaning, or sweeping or something like that. A blond girl comes up to me and she stands there, expectantly. She says something I do not hear. I say I am just filling up. She says something, still unintelligible, but I get the idea she wants to assist me. I say I can do it. Well, this "got'" her irritated, because in quite the huff she turns on her heel and walks away mumbling, or maybe not mumbling; I couldn't hear. I fill up.

You know you're getting old, when the "old" guy at the pump next to you is younger, but still would be described as an "old guy." Old guy says, You're not from around here, huh? No. He laughs. I take it as a friendly laugh. They expect to fill your tank for you. Why? That's "Oregon." Do they expect a tip? I never tip them.
My reaction is WTF. I watch what appears to be a homeless family head out onto 97 on foot. The sun is starting to set, but this far north it will be a while before it actually does even though low on the horizon. So I leave the Flying A Hole wiser and with a full tank. And quite possibly a fugitive from justice. Definitely BAD A$$.
You are charged with willful disregard of the lawful directives of the Flying A Hole PEO (Pump Environmental Officer). How do you plead?
Not Guilty by reason of sanity.

I wound up filling up a number of times more in Oregon, and once there was a very pretty blond, full of smiles, who came up to me. I asked her what was the etiquette for gas stations. For a motorcycle, you give them your card, they swipe it. You fill up yourself. Do you want a receipt? No. Ok, then. Sometimes when it's a mom and pop station, you wait at the pump and Pop, in this case, runs out, swipes my card and leaves me to create havoc for the environment. Weird, huh?
I've read that Oregonians grin and bear it. Portlandia.

Crater lake is really out of the way. It is really off the beaten path and as I travel there I am getting more and more backwoodsy. The places to stay are becoming sparce.

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I wind up the mountain, the road is now cutting through piled snow. I see signs telling me the north entrance is closed. I'm coming from the south entrance, but planned heading out the north, so now I'll have to back track. The road winds its way up Mt Mazama (7000-8000 feet), a volcano whose caldera collapsed and now is Crater Lake. The lake is nearly 8000 years old and is nearly 2000 ft deep, the deepest in the USA and 7th deepest in the world. It is best known for its deep blue color. It is a sacred site for the Klamath peoples whose ancestors may have witnessed the collapse.. From wiki

Their legends tell of a battle between the sky god Skell and Llao, the god of the underworld. Mount Mazama was destroyed in the battle, creating Crater Lake.

I reach the visitors center, closed, and there are throngs of Germans and Japanese and Koreans, all having a great time, photo ops all around. It is beautiful. A while back I said there were 4 places that were the highlights of this trip, that Death Vally and the Pacific Coast Highway came in at 3 and 4. I wish I could hold the suspense, but Crater Lake was number 1. I think because it was so out of the way, that I almost didn't come here, and then Wow. Basta chat.

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The hour is starting to get a bit late and knowing I had to backtrack nearly 60 miles, then find a place, I had to leave. I manage to beat the tour busses out of the lot and make decent time. I get back onto 97 and am now immersed in the long twilight of 43 degrees north latitude. I make it to Crescent and stop at the Woodsman Country Lodge, a unique place, but definitely worth a stop. A Mom and Pop place where every room has unique decor.

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A couple of things to be noted here. I saw no Woodsman in a log splitting sense of the word. They did have "wireles" there was "No Smoke" as far as I could tell. Thank goodness there was "No PEA," which is a medical abbreviation for "pulseless electrical activity." Laymans' terms "Lights on Nobody Home" in the heart department

I was in the Kill or Be Killed Room, leave the seat down...please, I'll only ask you once.

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Gotta say though the people were friendly and the rooms were very clean and very comfortable.

Next door was the Mohawk.
When in Crescent, you gotta eat at the Mohawk. It's a classic roadhouse complete with a friendly buxom waitress who called me honey a lot. I liked that.

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But wait!, There's more!
It's a d@mn one stop shop for all your needs in Crescent Oregon.
Ok, class, let's look at this. The Mohawk has, in addition to chili burgers, very tasty fries and a wide selection of micro brews,
1) ATM
2) Oregon Lottery
3) Ice Coffee
4) Home Style Cooking
5) FR VAN
OK, so I really don't know what "FR VAN" is, but it's like Techron, you know? I really don't know what THAT is either, but I KNOW I WANT IT.
6) Mocha. They have Mocha. I could not be more surprised if they had quenelles or petit fours. Lest you get me wrong, Mocha is good. It's not just a color for dust ruffles.
and the list goes on!
7) C0cktail Lounge AND Daily Specials
8 ) Truck-RV Parking
9) Animal & Bottle Collection
10) Taxidermy & Bottle Collection

Ok, gives me a little pause to order a chiliburger from a place that does a little taxidermy on the side, but only a little pause, because Honey comes around and leans over and giggles a bit, and they do have a bottle collection that deserved to be mentioned twice, and I am shallow. A giggle from a buxom waitress, a well tacked lean, and a pretty smile late in the twilight can easily win me over. And, like I tell anyone who cares, "sometimes shallow is deeper than it seems."
I await my chiliburger and fries. I sip on my IPA.
The guy behind the bar, looked like the love child of anyone from ZZ Top, well maybe not the guy who looks like he just saw his mid term grades,
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and Hulk Hogan.
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A fellow traveler on the mortal coil arrives who seems to be pals with the aforementioned love child and they joke and laugh and decide to go out for a smoke. As this is Oregon, I think that maybe they are going out for a "smoke," nudge nudge wink wink, but alas they come back in and from their unchanged disposition it seems to be just a smoke, not a "smoke."
Buxom waitress returns, Is Everything Ok Honey? Yes, Your food is coming out. It arrives.

I chew my tasty burger like Samuel Jackson did in Pulp Fiction
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I amble back to the Woodsman, sleep the sleep of the weary traveler with a belly full of chiliburger and fries, and think about tomorrow being another day.
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
Well, don't do that-Hippocrates
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