Since my brother Gary just started a new job, it was not possible for him to join us this time. I therefore proceeded with my other brother Gary. Gary Wilson. Adhering to our philosophy of not planning anything past the next meal, Gary and I had two lunch-hour meetings in Ft. Worth to determine the start date, meeting place and approximate destination. Two round trips to Ft. Worth is 600 miles altogether, but at least we got an approximate date and place nailed down. More or less.
Twelve hours prior to meeting, the meeting time and place were changed from Childress, Texas. It was agreed that since Gary would be coming up US 287 and I would be using US 82, we should meet in Henrietta, TX since this is where both highways merge briefly. Leaving Paris, TX early in the morning, the weather was cool and clear until I reached Gainesville, then there was a bit of light fog until somewhere around Nocona where the fog and the cool were replaced by the hot sun. The place in Henrietta was not open when either of us got there, so we came across each other at Stewart’s Sweet Shop on the square in Henrietta, Texas. They had the very best biscuits and gravy I have ever tasted.
Losing our keys became a regular part of virtually every stop along the way. I spent ten minutes looking for my motorcycle key after we registered at the Childress Inn, only to find it was on my neck lanyard where I generally keep it. At pretty much every stop one or the other of us would suit up for the road only to recall the key to the bike in an inner pocket that is unreachable without removing most of the protective gear. I don’t think either of us lost much of consequence on the trip. I left one pair of sunglasses behind somewhere, but I had a spare and Gary lost one glove, but that pair was mostly worn out and he had extras. Our motel room was clean and the television was modern so we had a pretty good impression of the place.
Gary broke a crown on one of his front teeth on the pizza dinner in Childress, TX on our first day of the trip. After a quick stop at Walmart for some super glue he glued his tooth back together himself. I covered 303 miles getting to Childress from Paris, Texas the first day of the trip and I am not sure how many miles Gary put in from Fort Worth.
Since we were starting out on the west end of Childress, we decided to wait on breakfast until we reached the next town. The Rock-Inn Café in Memphis, Texas was made to order for a couple of hungry guys.
| In Claude, Texas the second morning, we changed our route to bypass Amarillo and go through Borger to avoid getting on I-40 at all. |  |
 | Texas 207 between Claude and Borger is so straight that the road apparently only wears in a pair of strips down each side. |
Somewhere between Borger and Dumas, Gary was in the lead and noticed a sharp clang. At the same time, I thought I saw something in the roadway, but I wasn’t sure. Neither of us took much notice at the time and at the next stop Gary looked his bike over to see if there was any damage, but saw none. Looking back, this is probably where the bad front-end vibration started that would plague his bike throughout the trip. Also along this same section, we watched a crop duster flying so low over the corn that if his landing gear had been extended, the wheels would have been hitting the corn.
| It occurred to me then that all this mystery about crop circles is easily explained. Over much of America’s Midwest, crop-circles are everywhere. |  |
(Photo by NASA)
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| Proof that I am no longer the biggest one of these in Texas! |
Lunch was at Hodie’s Bar-B-Q in Dalhart. There were so many trucks in the tiny parking lot that I was sure every diner in the place had brought two. We managed to squeeze our bikes in and were both glad we did. This was good barbecue. Watching a man scrub the dead bugs off his windshield at a fuel stop, I told his wife; “The only thing worse than all those dead bugs on the windshield is not having a windshield.” With a grin, I flipped my bug splattered face shield down on my helmet and headed out to do further battle with the some of the smallest occupants of west Texas.
At the Denny’s in Raton, we got information about a campground outside of town called Soda Pocket. After a discussion, we both agreed it had been too long a day and it was way too hot to camp in New Mexico, so we stayed at a Motel 6 in Raton, NM the second night of the trip after covering 341 miles. The room had the same odor that nearly all motels have and the air conditioning was overwhelmed by the modest 80 degree temperatures. They did provide an oscillating fan for the room which I thought was a nice touch.
Everything is more expensive in NM and CO. Regular gasoline is 85 octane in both states and I think we call that diesel fuel where I’m from. For all the eco-friendly rhetoric, there doesn’t appear to be a vapor recovery boot on any gas pump in either state. I am not sure whether it was the poor gas or the altitude that affected my engine performance in several mountain passes. In spite of the low quality of the gasoline, we paid a hefty price wherever we went outside Texas. The highest price for regular was $3.85 a gallon for 85 octane in Gunnison, CO. and the lowest price was $3.20 per gallon for 87 octane in Wichita Falls, Texas.
We left I-25 in Walsenburg, CO for a quick cup of coffee, then headed up toward the Arkansas River at Texas Creek on CO 69. South of Westcliffe, Colorado, there is a paved airstrip that is brand new and top notch in every respect. This municipal airport has been around a long time, but apparently money has been added recently. Odd to find such an expensive runway built in the middle of an area being settled by Amish. We noticed the “Watch for horse-drawn buggies” signs and later got confirmation in Westcliffe.
We noticed a lot of property for sale up this way and I wonder if Doomsday Preppers have discovered that without surface water and good soil, there can be no reclusive life up here. I haven’t spent any time up here though, so high turnover may be the norm for rural properties in the Rocky Mountain foothills.
Starting in Salida, CO we noticed a trend. People didn’t hesitate to recommend restaurants with bad or overpriced foods. In the past, we have relied on such information to find the best spots to eat, but we never could get a really straight answer. Dinner in Salida was at Amica’s and had been recommended by someone at the US Forestry office in Salida. The calzone served was rather like poor quality frozen pizza folded over on itself before baking. It was served at gourmet prices though and everyone locally raved about how good it was. I put it down to crowd delusion and people wanting to agree with the general trend. The only thing Amica’s had going for it was a rather trashy version of a yuppie atmosphere. This same office warned us away from the places along the highway as being too “touristy”. On the way out to our campsite after dinner, we passed one of the “touristy” steak houses we had been warned about on the highway that advertised filet mignon for $9.95 and we ate there on our return trip.
| Just east of Salida, Colorado we spent our first night of camping in a roadside Bureau of Land Management campsite. We had only covered 197 miles on Day 3, but they were scenic miles of rolling foothills and neither of us was in any particular hurry. This camp area was free of charge and it had more rocks than a gravel parking lot.
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After what seemed like an endless attempt to sleep, Gary called out in the darkness to see if I was awake and had I gotten any sleep. I replied that I had slept now and then, but that rocks seemed to be growing beneath me so that every time I moved another rock was pressing into my spine or a rib. Gary admitted that he hadn’t slept much either and asked if I knew what time it was. My phone was in one of my boots, but I had no idea where my boots were. After some shuffling noises inside his tent, Gary exclaimed in a dismayed voice that it was 11:00pm. There was a lot more to what he said, but I really shouldn’t print it here.
| The next morning, Gary was packing his bike and I needed to charge my cell phone, so I cranked my bike up to let it idle while charging. |
Over time the wiring had rubbed a hole in the tubing and oil was now pouring out of the line.
Once again, serendipity was my friend. If I had not decided to run the engine to charge my phone, I would have been 30 miles down the road discovering the leak by the sound of my engine melting down catastrophically. My guestimate from the flow was that I would lose about a quart every twenty miles. The crank case holds about two and a half quarts and the nearest Harley dealer was in Pueblo, Colorado seventy miles in the wrong direction. Dealerships do not really like kludging together fixes, so they would need to order parts overnight and this would delay our trip at least two days and probably cost several hundred dollars.
| I cleaned the piece of plastic pipe with an alcohol wipe and applied a temporary fix with duct tape held in place with a length of parachute cord. This slowed the leak to a slow drip but it still bothered me.
After breakfast in Salida, I visited the neighborhood auto-parts store and purchased a small square of rubber sheet and some hose clamps. This temporary patch held together nicely for the rest of the trip and I may leave it like that. Because we noticed the leak almost immediately, the bike never lost enough oil to register on the dipstick although I checked the patch and the dipstick frequently on the trip. |  |
Buena Vista, Colorado is probably a larger community than it appeared to us as we followed the Arkansas River north out of Salida. In addition to a state correctional facility, there is the Brown Dog Coffee Company where we had a couple of great Mochas and relaxed on the front porch chatting with other travelers. I had to ask one couple about their T-shirts that advertised for “running the river” if it wouldn’t be easier to float the river instead. Rafting is the major industry here at the headwaters of the Arkansas River and although the water is running fast here, it is also shallow and I think these rapids would be class III or below. There were kayaks and rafts available everywhere, but I saw no canoes and this surprised me. I have always preferred a canoe, but perhaps that is because I am a bit of a loner by nature.
Lunch in Leadville at the Tennessee Pass Café was expensive, but filling enough that neither of us felt the need for supper later.
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We ended Day 4 of our trip in the Belle of Colorado Tent Camping area on the eastern shore of Turquoise Lake just outside Leadville, Colorado after travelling a modest 83 miles.
Susie commented that the name sounds like a bordello. While we were setting, up the “resident host” from another camping area came by in a golf cart and told me I needed to wrap the trees or use straps to hang my hammock. I was wrapping the trees with heavy canvas and using a pair of trees already “ringed” by an earlier camper’s careless use of hammock ropes. Later, a maintenance worker walked in and told me that I needed to wrap the trees even for a couple of small lines that didn’t have any tension to them. He pointed out another campsite that had “wrapped” the trees with paper plates to protect them from ropes. He also suggested straps of at least two inch width for hanging the hammock.
| I assured him that the following day I would obtain a pair of towing straps to tie the hammock off to and showed him the “before” photos I had taken to show the trees had already been condemned by a previous guest. His wife was the resident host for the tent camping area and she came by later to hand-deliver a copy of their guide to camping etiquette. She told me that straps are required and should be at least an inch and a half in width. The hand-out she gave me at the same time forbids anything being tied to the trees. |  |
By now thoroughly confused, I determined to rig my hammock on the ground the next night just to be left in peace.
I had added a foam pad to my gear just before starting this trip because on cold nights, the bottom of the sleeping bag is crushed under your body weight and so has no insulating value. A foam pad remedies this, but complicates sleeping in a hammock. I found that at first, I felt like I was balancing on a tightrope with a sheet of plywood between me and the rope. After I got comfortable, this feeling went away and I slept quite comfortably. After a nap that evening, Gary remarked that his heart rate was over 100bpm.
It rained softly off and on through the night, but both of us were snug and warm in our various accommodations. This was my first experimental use of an auxiliary tarp to replace the tarp that came with my 1965 Army Jungle Hammock. The original tarp had disintegrated a couple of years ago and was never really good at keeping blowing rains out anyway. This new tarp is rigged diagonally and provides good coverage while still allowing breathing. The air was pleasantly cool when we went to bed (around 6pm) and only got chilly toward morning.
We tolerated a barely edible breakfast at the Shanty III in Leadville. The omelet had an “off” taste to it and the coffee cup had two large chunks broken off the rim. This in no way discouraged their traditional Colorado pricing.
After breakfast, we went looking for the doctor referred by Gary’s health plan and they found his blood oxygen was around 82 which might explain why he was having trouble with logic during this period. While they had him on pure oxygen, a nurse came out to recommend some scenic roads we should explore. The doctor told Gary that he was suffering from the flu and altitude sickness. Gary was given a prescription and offered the use of a rather large oxygen bottle while he is in town. Pointing out that we are on motorcycles, they said they have smaller bottles. When asked how long a bottle lasts, they said about three hours, but they could lend us several bottles. Again, their attention was directed to the overloaded bikes.
The answer was pretty clear to both of us. My head had been hurting since we had arrived at Leadville 10,200 feet above sea level and I had gone through all my headache meds the previous evening. We needed to find lower altitudes to explore. I had started the morning wearing my full leathers and wishing I had dug out my warm mittens, but by noon, I was back to a t-shirt and still sweating.
| We headed to the local grocery store to fill a prescription and while there, watched as some of the leaders of Boy Scout Troop 5 from Madison South Dakota help a lady figure out how to raise the roof on her convertible. |  |
They were a cheerful bunch but they had some crazy notions about hiking the mountains around Colorado. I couldn’t find enough air to breathe in town, let alone up in the mountains.
During this period it was increasingly apparent that the lack of breathable air was affecting Gary. At one point, he got on his bike, squeezed the clutch lever, and dropped the shifter into first gear. He rolled on a bit of throttle as he eased out the clutch, then got an odd look on his face before remembering to put the key in the ignition and press the starter button. It is funny how routines you don’t normally have to think about become complicated when you are oxygen deprived. In Leadville, we had planned on heading to the lower mountains in New Mexico, but by the end of day 5, we both realized that we needed lower elevations, but those lower elevations would include higher temperatures that would make camping less than pleasant.
During the morning, we could see ugly storm clouds building up to the south of us. The way this trip was going, that had to be the direction for us. We suited up (a dance I call the “Rain Gear Games”) after lunch and headed toward Independence Pass (one of the scenic routes on the nurse’s “must-see” list). During lunch, we had plotted a course generally south to find lower elevations via Independence Pass. It rained off and on the rest of the day. Before we got to the pass, Gary lost the left half of his riding gloves, but he had brought a few backup pairs. I don’t know how he lasted half an hour without gloves. My hands were freezing inside my wet leather gloves.
The community of Twin Lakes is on the eastern approach to Independence Pass and caters to adventure travelers of various breeds. Some people were in the general store when I walked in trying to find their replenishment caches among the piles of gear left there by other travelers. On the shores of Twin Lakes, stands the Mt. Elbert Power Plant. This is a 200,000 kiloWatt pumped storage plant which uses surplus off-peak power from the electrical grid to pump water to a higher elevation so that during peak hours, the water falling back downward through the system can generate additional energy. This plant has been in operation since 1981. Since electrical power must be generated based upon peak demand, we should be seeing more and more innovative ways to store the surplus generated during off-peak times.
The ride up the eastern side of the pass is scary even on a motorcycle. On the approach, there are four signs spaced a mile apart warning no vehicles over 35 feet in length allowed. The drops beside the road are dramatic and the views are spectacular. On the way up, Gary was having some troubles again as the air grew thinner with altitude, so I took the lead for the remainder of the descent.
| I would like to think my attention to the switchbacks and steep drop-offs was unwavering. Soon after I took over the lead, a college coed experiencing a roadside wardrobe malfunction led me to explore some off-road trailblazing VERY briefly followed by group weight-lifting with Gary to get my overloaded bike back upright. The bike came out of it without a scratch and even the bottles of water and diet soda strapped on top of my sleeping bag stayed in place. I came out almost unscathed. A few scratches to the face, but deeper scars to the ego as I had to endure Gary’s ribbing the rest of the afternoon including jokes about me going all “Euell Gibbons” by trying to eat a pine tree as I flew off the bike. |
We only stopped in Aspen, Colorado for red lights. Both of us were struck by the aura of a playground for spoiled rich kids and there was no sense of welcome for us. As we rolled westward out of town, we both noticed that the airport is crammed with private jets to whisk people off to the next dinner party in the far corners of the world of the wealthy.
We also noticed that the high-occupancy (carpool) lane on the highway west of Aspen is the right hand lane. Perhaps they could use a little less herbal in their highway engineering department. The rain was falling steadily the entire distance from Aspen to Carbondale and we had made the decision not to suit up for it, so we were both ready to take a break and have a burger in Carbondale. Being Colorado, the “nothing special” burgers at the Red Rock Diner were priced like steak anywhere else.
We didn’t find a motel suited to us in Carbondale, but a little boy who couldn’t be more than eight years old at a gas station told us there were three in Paonia, Colorado just south of Carbondale. Never having heard of Paonia, but being accustomed to getting great tips on shortcuts and travel tips from odd places, we didn’t even question the logic before setting out to find Paonia. Just over McClure Pass (8,755ft) we found a mix of industrial mining towns and vineyards. At Paonia there is just a gas station on the highway because the town apparently decided not to move its businesses to the main thoroughfare as other towns have, so we almost missed the entire town.
Cruising along the main avenue in Paonia, we didn’t see anything like a motel, so when Gary spotted a police car on a side street, he pulled next to it and asked officer Patrick Hinyard for directions. Officer Hinyard tried to give us directions, but I think he sensed we weren’t following his logic, so he just told us to “swing a U-turn and follow him.
Gary swung his bike around, but an unexpected transition in pavement height caught his front wheel and he was down. At least now he might not give me such a hard time about driving off the side of a 12,095 foot mountain pass.
| As with my spill earlier in the day, there was no damage to Gary’s motorcycle although two different liquids spilled from it. It took all three of us to get the heavily loaded bike back upright, but Officer Hinyard was a good sport about the whole thing. One of them was obviously gasoline, but the other remained unidentified until later in the trip. Gary suffered only a minor scrape to his knee. |  |
The place Officer Hinyard led us had no vacancy and since he had already driven off by the time we got that answer, we asked if the manager knew anything about the other motel. She claimed no knowledge and when I recalled a partial name, she shrugged and admitted that the name rang a bell, but she just couldn’t recall. In fact, she knew very well and was simply being dishonest. We did find accommodations on the southern edge or perhaps just outside of town at the Redwood Arms Motel. From the outside, this motel looks much like any other, but the rooms are big, the television in our room was modern and it was all very clean and lacking of that disturbing odor most motel rooms seem to have. The proprietress is a delightful lady from Poland with the most beautiful accent and a personality of pure sunshine and was very helpful with everything we needed. This is where Day 5 ended after covering 176 miles with two wrecks.
| Coming into Hotchkiss, Colorado from the north, we spotted The Hometown Café. For $9.50, you get two eggs, hash browns, a pork chop and coffee. |  |
| We were finally getting out of the yuppie part of Colorado into the workingman’s world of good food served at reasonable prices. I caught a picture of Gary at the moment he realized we were out of Yuppie Land. |
The waitress at the Hometown Cafe understands the working man as only a former truck driver can.
Heading east out of Hotchkiss, we travelled along Colorado 92 which follows the Gunnison River from far above with spectacular views to the south. It was during a photo opportunity here that Gary decided to try to fix the vibrations that had been plaguing his front end since before we left Texas. Another biker suggested there was a Honda dealership in Gunnison who could take a look at it since we didn’t have a large enough wrench to even attempt to dismantle his front end. Once Colorado 92 drops down to river level and crosses the dam at the bottom end of Blue Mesa Reservoir, it ends at US 50. To the east was Gunnison and it was on our way. Later we found out that the Honda dealership mentioned earlier was west of this intersection by 60 miles.
In Gunnison, we found no Honda dealership, but they do have a Yamaha Dealership where the mechanics agreed to take a look Gary's bike. After a cursory examination, they could find nothing obviously loose, but then noticed a mark on the front wheel where a wheel weight was recently attached. Pointing to the remaining weight as an example of what was apparently missing, the mechanic dislodged the remaining weight with his fingertips. Having possibly identified the problem, they agreed to insert some “balancing beads” inside the tire. While that was being done, I took advantage of the break to wash and fold our clothes in the laundry mat next door. As soon as the last clothes were folded, the bottom fell out of the clouds and it was raining hard enough to leave two hundred foot visibility. So much for having clean clothes. We waited out the worst of the rain, then headed on into town for lunch. Once again, we tried going to a place recommended to us, but it looked way to quaint for our tastes, so we found our own fast food.
Continuing east on US 50 from Gunnison, we climbed Monarch Pass (11,312 ft) without pausing and crossed the continental divide for the last time on this trip. By this time we were just racing to keep ahead of the rains and Gary, who seemed to be feeling better all the time had found a pace that kept us ahead of one storm and behind another although the gap between the storms seemed to be narrowing all the time. The vibrations were reduced but still present in Gary’s front end but it is possible that the tire is shot from being ridden so far with the missing balance weights. There really wasn’t much of an alternative at the time, so we just kept riding.
| Once again in Salida, we booked a room at the American Classic Inn. The owner is a very cheerful and helpful Polish man who collects rocks as a hobby |  |
 | The lobby was crammed with unusual specimens and none of us could identify one rock about the size of a handball that had seams dividing it into three sections. |
| I think there may be aspects of English still to be learned by this owner because the sign over the toilet in our room might lead one to believe that poop goes in the wastebasket. |  |
For the first time since entering Colorado, we got good advice about food. The owner of the inn directed us to Quincy’s Tavern where we enjoyed Prime Rib for $11.95 with cheerful service. Day 6 closed with us having covered 163 miles.
Day 7 dawned with dry pavement after thunderstorms and rain all night. We again followed the motel owner’s recommendation and for breakfast, and enjoyed a good breakfast at the Patio Pancake Place where Gary noticed a patron wearing a T-shirt that read “Pursuit Driven Life”. Gary wondered aloud whether the man was aware that the shirt declares that his life is driven by predators. After breakfast, we topped off our tanks and headed east on US 50 toward Texas Creek where we would turn south on CO 69. Taking a break at Cotopaxi, CO it suddenly dawned on Gary what the mystery fluid was a couple of days ago when he dumped his bike. It was coolant. With that in mind, we began looking for anti-freeze. Unfortunately, it is sold in large containers and mixed with distilled water for use. We were not sure how much had leaked out while the bike was upended and the little observation window didn’t give us much of a clue either.
After a cup of hot cocoa in Westcliffe, we turned off our outbound path on CO 69 to return along CO 96. It was in Westcliffe that we found a service station that was open and doing automotive repairs on a Sunday morning. They generously offered us some antifreeze from an open bottle, but once the covers were off, Gary found the level was good enough, so we declined.
At the point where the terrain around CO 96 changes from foothills to proper mountains, we turned south on CO 165. Here we would find out what the forest rangers all over Colorado had been telling us about. Alongside the road is a stone castle complete with moat, drawbridge and a heavy wrought-iron gate that slides up and down in slots within the stone walls. Bishop’s Castle and the owner thereof make insanity look pretty normal. There were people of all ages crawling around this place with catwalks and features more than fifty feet in the air. There is apparently no charge for admission and the only rules that seem to apply is any representative from the government is not welcome. There have never been any building permits or inspections during the construction if this castle on the mountaintop and I shudder to think of the mindset of parents who would let their children roam the highest sections. The evidence of the owner’s insanity is in the signs posted all over the place. Some of the signs are legible while others ramble and don’t make any sense. All of the signs condemn the government. There are so many photos of this castle and the signs around it that you will have to check them out at my flickr site:Colorado 2014
In Colorado City, we had a Subway lunch and some more hot cocoa before getting on Interstate 25 and heading south for Raton Pass.
| Outside Trinidad, CO we paused at a rest stop to watch the violent thunderstorms hovering around the pass ahead. Northbound travelers assured us that it was raining hard in the pass. Finally spotting what looked like a gap between two storms, we headed off (without rain gear) and somehow managed to thread the needle between storms. |
We made it through the pass with barely a sprinkle. Reaching our turn-off in Raton, NM to US 87, we stopped only long enough to top off our tanks. I did notice that the ignition switch was about to fall off my bike, but that was no surprise with all the equipment problems we had been having. With the storms right behind us, we set off for Texline, TX. The first twenty minutes of this leg were in 300 foot visibility heavy rain with large drops. They felt like knives at highway speeds on my bare arms, but there was nothing to do about it but try to push through and get in front of the system. Behind the front, the rain was not going to end for a long time.
Pulling into Texline, TX we stopped at the gas station long enough to give a couple our Texas map and some instructions on how to get to Lubbock and Bowie. We ate burgers at Maria’s for dinner and while Gary languished over his meal, I went out to tighten my ignition switch that was nearly falling off by now.
After dinner, we headed to the best motel in town. The only motel in town, too. We had stayed here on our way home from our 2007 Sturgis trip. This time we were almost surprised to find the place still open. Sort of open. The signs all said open. The front door to the office was standing wide open. There were even a few guest rooms with vehicles parked in front, although there is so much dust in west Texas it is sometimes difficult to tell if a car is derelict or just parked for a few minutes. The “under new management” sign was peeling badly. Once we reached the owner by phone, she said she would drive into town and check us in.
Our room was not that much different from the room we stayed in back in 2007 with my other brother Gary.
| There was no privacy lock on the inside of the door at all. Note the pencil marks are still on the door from when they laid out the holes to drill. |  |
 | The privacy chain screwed to the wall next to the door had no corresponding fitting on the door, so it was pretty useless. |
| There was no bulb in the lamp. |  |
| The shower head was missing. |
All very homey to both of us as tired as we were. On day 7 we had covered 294 miles, much of which was done racing ahead of or between storm systems.
Day 8 dawned with us in our home time-zone and we were both late getting started. After breakfast at Granny’s Diner in the same building as the motel, we climbed aboard the bikes and headed for the highway. In a continuing effort to make me feel better about dumping my bike off the mountain a few days ago, Gary gracefully laid his bike down one more time at the edge of the parking lot. There was so much loose gravel everywhere we went that stopping was always hazardous.
When we got his bike back upright, I noticed that Gary’s low-beam headlight was no longer functioning. Another equipment failure? What a surprise.
Our plan had been to ride to Childress, but once we got there, the weather was still cool and we both felt like going on, so we pushed on to Wichita Falls where we booked into a Motel 6. The manager noticed I had two photo ID’s and that led to a discussion about Concealed Handgun Licenses. I encouraged him to take a course that should be readily available in the area whether he got a license or not, because it might be helpful to understand some of the laws regarding firearms use.
Our room was nice enough and I find I like the laminated flooring in a motel room because it is easier to clean and easier to spot a lack of cleaning. Gary and I talked about it and I told him that I was changing my plans to ride into Ft. Worth with him. I was ready to simply turn off at Henrietta and take the direct route back to Paris the next day. On Day 8 we had covered 359 miles together.
| Day 9 was an early start although I have no idea what time it was. While loading the bikes, I noticed a large rat trap just outside our door. |  |
I rode straight through to home in Paris, TX without pausing other than for gas and at the end of the day had put another 190 miles on my bike by the time I got home around 10:30am.
Have you ever wondered why dogs insist on having their noses out the car window in the wind? Ask anyone on a motorcycle. Altogether it was a pretty good trip. Nobody got hurt, none of the equipment suffered catastrophic failure. When you go about a vacation trip without a plan, it is difficult for changing circumstances to upset you. Nine days on the road with a good friend covering 2,106 miles. Life is good.
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