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Big Joe

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Bamabikeguy
I really enjoy your posts. I used to read them at the "other place". Very seldom go there anymore. This is much friendlier. I will come to see you one of these days.
Joe
 

bamabikeguy

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Setting another MB world record !!

Bamabikeguy
I really enjoy your posts. I used to read them at the "other place". Very seldom go there anymore. This is much friendlier. I will come to see you one of these days.
Joe
Thanks Joe,

I quit posting there last October, apparently missed all the drama (thankfully) & July 4 is a good day to mention what an independent bunch of nuts we are anyway. Those that know my rambling style understand that I don't start at Day One or Point A, just jump in with an episode that mostly has a "happy ever after" conclusion. "Little did I know" is a well earned theme throughout.

(I know what you're thinking, what about those "Ominous Pike's Peaks Storm Clouds"?!?, I'll get back to those one day soon.)


This will be the first one I try using pictures, and since there is a 5 pic limit, and it will take 10 to tell the tale, this will also be a "two parter", starting with my personal interest in that Prairie Wind I called "Dammit", ending with the ABSOLUTE SHORTEST ONE WAY TRIP THRU TEXAS, what I consider a Worlds Record for a sprint through a pretty large state.

(Let's load up some pix, see if my dial-up holds)

Day 2 out of Denver, going south out of Lamar toward Springfield, CO, I saw my very first wind farm. I was twenty miles away when I first spotted them standing in the distance. So my interest was really intense because it took so long to actually arrive on the bluff where 80 of them stood on both sides of the highway, with an abandoned school house situated on the next lot.

Standing over 75 feet in the air, it was hard to gauge the size of the turbines from the ground. Little did I know, I would get my answer as to the size in less than 24 hours.

About a half hour past the wind farm, I saw this neat looking place on the left, the sign said "C'mon In", so I did, and there I met a noted cowboy artist, poet, preacher, Bill Bunting We spent about an hour jawing about just about anything, especially seeing his craftwork, (way out of my $10 a day budget). So we swapped, he gave me a book of his poems, and he got the best postcard I had, the one of Chief Red Cloud.

Bill Bunting was born and raised in the canyon lands of southeastern Colorado on the ranch his grandfather filed claim on in the early 1900's. Always a cowboy, Bill has always had a strong interest in the history of Native Americans and the west. Much of his art work and many of his knives portray his own interpretation of past eras.

A self taught bladesmith, Bill uses many of the techniques of the old time blacksmith. It was not until the summer of 1996, after going through some devastating trials, that Bill totally gave his life to the Lord. It was after hitting rock bottom-and crying out to the Lord that the poetry started flowing.

For the past several years, Bill has traveled the western United States entertaining and preaching at cowboy poetry gatherings, bluegrass festivals, western music festivals, cowboy camp meetings, church revivals, etc. Bill is truely a unique individual, a cowboy, an artist, a knifemaker, an entertainer, a poet, a preacher, and a man truly gifted by God.
Here's his website:

Three Feathers Art | Original Western Art & Poetry

Anyway, he called the newspaper in Springfield to arrange an interview, recommended "the best steakhouse in town". Little did I know after I left, he also called the steakhouse, and when I finished a nice T-bone and all the fixins' lunch , the owner asked if I was the Alabama guy on the red bike, then he said "your steak was bought by good old Bill". Yep, he's a good'un.

(Oh, and btw, a simple "I'm a backpew catholic" keeps me out of religious discussions, leave a lot more time to talk about interesting stuff)...

In another thread, a guy from Denver wants some advise (which I'm going to give A LOT LESS OF, I'm avoiding that whole tech/mech mess this time around)....And in the Springfield paper, The Baca Weekly, we went with that Don Quixote theme.

And when you get running, go see the Deadhead owner of Sancho's Broken Arrow over on Colfax Ave, and the guys at the Oriental Theater, tell them the "idiot on the red bike from Alabama" sent you.

I think there are three brothers involved in three bars with the Cervantes theme, but the Sancho's owner "took the shirt off his back", gave me this nice long sleeve "Steal Your Face" logo WITH handy pocket.

He's the one who named my bike "Rocinante", "the Noble Nag" ridden by Don Quixote.
Now we have to skip ahead to late morning Day 3, because the Ominous Cloud Story really begins after the newspaper interview, on the outskirts of town.......

You can't really see what I did on the map in the middle, so I blew up that little corner of Texas. When I got to Slapout, OK, at the very end of the panhandle, I got a cuppacoffee, jawed with the customers, (what we call "bullshooting", they call "jawing") then headed out, just a few minutes till I reached the Texas border.

According to my calculations, I rode south 5 miles, then east for 8, NOT EVEN STOPPING AT THE INTERSECTION, 13 miles total, WOT the whole way.

Unless someone shows me a different route , this is the shortest one-way trip through Texas possible.

Scratched it completely off "states visited list" in less than twenty minutes.Little did I know....I was about to fall into No Man's Land !!

(stay tuned for part II)
 

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bamabikeguy

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No Man's Land

Historical markers are always good spots to take a break, stretch the legs, check the map, refuel the horse. And riding the length of the panhandle of Oklahoma really gave me an up close look & feel of how rough the pioneers had it way back when.

Towns and villages are located basically 30 miles apart because that was about how far an oxen or mule drawn wagon could travel in a day, but with the advent of automobiles, many of the marginal towns dried up and blew away. In the panhandle I saw a historical marker designating a ghost town 3 miles off the road, which was actually the only "hot spot" for cowboys in a 60 mile radius. In other words, on payday they would race to the "only town with whiskey and women this side of Amarillo".

Coincidentally, the very first book I read after my return to Alabama was a forgettable novel by Larry McMurtry "Telegraph Days", full of cliches and nothing like his excellent "Lonesome Dove". But the town he put his characters in was smack dab in that panhandle I passed through. It is hard to find a positive review of this book, throw away the dumb plot, what I liked was McMurtry's description of the scenery, it fit into what I had just experienced.

Faced with an uncertain future on their father’s failed plantation, which is somewhere south of the Cimarron River in the Midwest plains, Nellie and Jackson travel by mule to a Nowheresville town called Rita Blanca, “A dusty place…where people stopped when they just absolutely didn’t have the strength to travel another stop toward Santa Fe or wherever they thought they wanted to get to.”

Rita Blanca is a godforsaken place, of course, where Beau Wheless, the town carpenter, can’t hammer the coffins fast enough to keep pace with the carnage. But Nellie and Jackson find their way here. Sheriff Ted Bunsen, who has designs on Nellie, makes Jackson deputy sheriff, while Nellie—an aspiring journalist—mans the telegraph machine and becomes the town’s portal for civilization.
Ever since meeting that wind called "Dammit, (varying from half hour to two hour gusts), I had finally figured it out correctly two days running. Back in Kansas I had noticed it came from one direction in the morning, then flipped around by mid-afternoon. I basically was going east/south/east/south in straight lines. It was just a matter of picking the right road in the correct direction to start out with. Crossing the Republic River after the Red Cloud Nebraska fling was the main place where I guessed it all wrong.

Once you were in the middle of nowhere headed east, you couldn't go back and try tacking south first. But I was having a blast, especially when "Dammit" turned into "Tailwind Blessings". There were times I knew I was going over 38-40 mph on lonesome highways.

It turned out to be excellent Karma when I snipped off the corner of Texas, that put me not only heading south the whole day, but mostly downhill and with no headwind. Two dead armadillos, then two more, a guy at a gas station explained the math to me, "damdillers" don't live over 3,000 feet altitude, which also explained my fuel intake questions.

There was a lake northeast of Elk City, OK I had targeted for camping/swimming. That evening I arrived a full hour earlier than I calculated, by the time it gusted, I had skinny dipped all the panhandle dust away, and was napping under a picnic shed. And since there were now "real trees" to serve as windbreaks, for the rest of my journey I was never again tormented by guessing wrong in the mornings. "It don't take a weatherman to know which way the wind blows" as little Robby Zimmermann sings.

So, back to the story of No Man's Land....

I snap the picture at the Texas state line, fuel up Rocinante, empty the bladder of coffee (as a YellowDog Democrat tribute to Dubya), and race through the only stop sign on the road. Heck, you can see an oncoming car miles away.

As I approach the border, I look over my shoulder to see the "Texas State Line" sign, but where is "Welcome back to Oklahoma"???? Most times the two signs are within yards of each other.

Theres a historical marker !

Northeast corner of Texas
Established by law in 1850 as the intersection of 100 degree longitude and 36 30 latitude, this point remained in dispute for 79 years. Of some 9 surveys made to locate corner on ground, none coincided. Even so, three blocks were annexed to Texas from Oklahoma (1903, 1929)- to the confusion of landowners. One man claimed he went to bed in Oklahoma and awoke in Texas. In 1929 the US Supreme Court had a final survey run. Some people with land formerly in Oklahoma could not afford to repurchase it in Texas, but the exact site of corner was at least determined.
(Bragging about Karma so early in the morning bit me, somehow the sequence of my pictures switched....pic 3 is the Oklahoma welcome, pic 1 is the Texas sign, both taken from the historical marker angle, I hope they show that they must be close to a mile apart).

Over that hill, behind those scrub pines, would be the perfect place to throw up a homesteader shack or for a modern outlaw to hide from the Rangers.

Remember how I couldn't appreciate the size of the wind turbines?

About 15 minutes later I came to the intersection of the southbound highway to Shattuck, and eventually the Elk City region. There was a flat bed semi trailer carrying a General Electric Turbine on the side of the road, and another flatbed broke down in the middle of that intersection. The weight of the turbine had collapsed the trailer.

After an hour of me not seeing a single soul, here was a beehive of 4 escort cars, 2 state troopers, ten pickups full of farmers and ranchers, and now an idjut on a red bike with a camera and a hundred wind turbine questions. They were looking at my bike while I was up on the trailer, climbing INTO the turbine for closeups.

I rode up to the trooper and offered that if they had a chain, Rocinante could at least pull the wreck out of the road until a crane arrived, one big enough to lift it. He didn't see the humor of my suggestion, because said crane must be in Oklahoma City, and he was going to be standing in that sun for hours.

My lunch timing was nearly perfect, I like to arrive after the noon rush, and I found an All U Can Eat buffet in Shattuck, a little after 1pm. The lady who owned it was super friendly, asking questions about my travels, and as my son and daughter-in-law had just got off service on the USS Roosevelt during the war, and the newly commissioned USS Reagan during shakedowns, and her son was about to go to Great Lakes Illinois Navy recruit training, I filled her in on all the Chicago attractions we had during graduation.

The cafe closed at 2pm, but we were still talking at 2:30 as I ate big helpings of cobbler for dessert, and when I left she handed me four chicken thighs wrapped in tinfoil. Tasted excellent down at the lake after my siesta. I had read all the poetry in my autographed Bill Bunting book, so I gave it to her as thanks for the hospitality.

Life is a series of trade-offs, collecting things is just more "stuff to carry" as George Carlin said.

After I gave her the book, she had mentioned how the Shattuck owned a Bill Bunting Statue near the town hall, but she didn't mention the Windmill Museum !! I had never seen a windmill farm until two days ago, and within moments of leaving the cafe , HERE WERE OVER A HUNDRED, the biggest windmill collection in the world.

Bill Bunting had given me a little information about the wind farm north of his studio, the editor of the Baca Weekly said Springfield had one windmill servicing the needs of the town running at only 40% capacity, but they were forty miles from the main line, so they couldn't sell the excess.

Towns have these unsightly radio/telephone towers anyway, I just can't see why towns don't just stick a windmill or two right next to them......

There was a motorcyclist and his son walking at the Windmill Museum when I pulled up. They were headed north on a day trip, and we exchanged scenic notes. The son was doing a science project on "wind power", they were building one at their house. That kid and those historic models were such an insight.

They had lived in the region all their lives, had never heard of that NoMan's land area, so I'm thinking they repeated my little 13 mile stunt, in reverse.

Especially after I told them about the brokedown truck with the turbine and the boiling over state trooper, who was still up there waiting on that crane. The kid was eager to see the chaotic action, climb into a turbine like I did.

I told the kid if his timing was right, there would be a chance to ride piggyback on that turbine as they lifted it to the substitute trailer, a modern day Pecos Bill riding a tornado, and the father went along with the joke,

"It never hurts to ask, son, never hurts to ask".
 

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ran49

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So.In.
Bama:What an amazing trek!I'm glad you have the knack to relate it in such fine fashion.Thanks for sharing and keep it coming
"Rocinante"Cool name and perhaps fitting with the windmills but a little over the heads of my crowd.However I might borrow "Hardly Davidson".LOL,thats a new one on me.Ron
 
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bamabikeguy

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The evolution of Rocinante

Bama:What an amazing trek!I'm glad you have the knack to relate it in such fine fashion.Thanks for sharing and keep it coming
"Rocinante"Cool name and perhaps fitting with the windmills but a little over the heads of my crowd.However I might borrow "Hardly Davidson".LOL,thats a new one on me.Ron

ALL MBer's are on some sort of Don Quixote quest
, and a community of fellow enthusiasts is better able to understand all the "little insights" that a non-MBer can't. We are ALL trying to turn the lowly bicycle into a reliable and efficient vehicle, transform a caterpillar into a butterfly.

And we are unable to communicate to the landlubbers/outsiders/otherworlders all the little nuances involved in this hobby, but I guess that is a universal, from fishing to sailing to knitting and quilting, only the insiders know what's what.

So here is my "what's what".

The name of Quixote's horse was one of those trivia items that bugged me all the way to Denver, and until Dewey and I got to Sancho's Broken Arrow on Colfax Ave., I hadn't had the chance to ask an expert. Here was a bar owner who had read the book 10 times since childhood, so involved in the work of literature that his families four saloons all have Cervantes themes.

Being a fellow Grateful Dead tourhead, this guy instantly understood a lot of the magic of my idiotic quest, to win the Oil War, Exxon and Texaco being my windmill monsters.

He started quoting Cervantes (some of it in Spanish) as he presented me with the shirt off his back (I think the long sleeves are $25) and folks comped me free drinks till way after closing time. My altitude unfamiliarity and jagermeister shots, that's a combo that leads to a badly sung song or two.

From his website:

Quixotes True Blue :: Sancho's Broken Arrow :: Dulcinea's 100th Monkey :: Cervantes' Masterpiece ::

"Look, sir," answered Sancho Panza,
"those which appear yonder are not giants, but windmills;
and what seem to be arms are the sails,
which whirled about by the wind make the millstone go."
"It is very evident," answered Don Quixote,
"that thou art not versed in the business of adventures."
Cervantes and the whole chasing windmills delusional quest is not only a farce, but also a deep philosophical study, "who is the madman in a mad world?" Quixote reads too many tales of knights, dragons, monsters until he believes them to be true, and then everything around him changes. Inns become castles, and his skinny horse becomes a noble steed.

Likewise, we as a community will read the exploits of others. The big difference is "we know it is POSSIBLE", not just a fantasy.

Some build bikes for speed, some build for distance, all build for durability and seek something reliable and trustworthy. My bike became a pet horse, especially when I was traveling the high plains, with 360 degree visibility. Except I was moving 5 times faster than Clint Eastwood ever could.

BUT, until a person goes out and experiences the outside and unfamiliar world, nothing is real except the "dream of a quest". The writer only tries to tell his interpretation, but the reader can find his or her own reality. It took Cervantes two books and ten years to try to capture the human delusions.

For background
Don Quixote thinks of a name to give to his steed in order to set out on his adventures, and chooses 'Rocinante' to establish the horse as no longer a nag. The etymology is uncertain. The name is, however, a pun.

"Rocin" in Spanish means work-horse or low-quality horse ("nag"), but also illiterate or rough man. "Ante" has basically three meanings. First , the Spanish ante means "before" or "previously". Secondly, it also translates as 'in front of'. On the third order, the suffix -ante in Spanish is an adverb.

In other words, because there is a quest, the lowest transforms to the highest, AND strangers can't recognize this nobleness, they only see the nag, AND in Spanish, many adverbs change the meaning of the word to something "beautiful, dear or noble", you make something pretty by simply changing the name (opposites, like "pretty as a pig", or "love as sweet as a lemon").

The second most famous use of Rocinante
was by one of my favorite authors, John Steinbeck in one of his last works:

Rocinante Returns to Salinas

Rocinante is the truck author John Steinbeck drove across the United States in 1960. He recounts the journey in Travels with Charley, a bestseller that initially sold more volumes than any of Steinbeck's other books and won the 1963 Paperback-of-the-Year Award. Steinbeck chose a truck because it is mobile yet self-contained, and it “is a respectable and respected working instrument.”

The truck Steinbeck commissioned was a new model with a V6 engine, an automatic transmission, and an oversized generator. The camper was provided by the Wolverine Camper Company of Glaswin, Michigan.

Steinbeck called the truck Rocinante, after Quixote's horse because his friends called his trip quixotic. Shirley Fisher of McIntosh and Otis painted the name in early Spanish script on the camper's side. When the hurricane that initially postponed Steinbeck trip wore away the letters, she repainted it.

Steinbeck mentions Rocinante occasionally but affectionately in his book, calling her “a beautiful thing, powerful and lithe,” almost as easy to handle as a passenger car. There were a few mishaps along the way. Having equipped the camper with about “four times too much of everything,” two tires gave out on a lonely road in Oregon, and Steinbeck had to replace the overloaded springs in California.

However, Steinbeck maintained that Rocinante was not “mean” or “ugly-natured” like some cars he'd owned. Indeed, because of her “purring motor and perfect performance,” “because of her ready goodness,” he treated “her like the honest bookkeeper, the faithful wife,” and except for meticulous routine maintenance, he ignored her.
So, here is the evolution of my Rocinante.

I started out with $100 Next bikes, then got a $35 Western Flyer with curved handlebars. Within a month of building my first three bikes, folks started asking me to build them one, so I sought out a reliable bike shop, found one in Decatur, and I bought a single speed Sun Cruiser with coaster brakes and full fenders. DO NOT REPEAT MY MISTAKE.

Paul, the owner of The Peddler, gave me am out of date J&B catalog, and I picked out the Sun Retro 7 cruiser, because of the handy half fenders and foam handle bars. He had never built one before, now says it is his best seller, every time I order one, he puts it in the front of his shop and sells 2 more. He says dollar for dollar, its the best bike in his line.

Sun's website is a real piece of junk, however.

Here are 5 pix, Rocinante right before I headed to Florida, then packed with only a carry bag both on the Florida trip (DeSoto Trail) and Denver trip (an oil pump in Oklahoma). Both times I was carrying a back pack. On the January 2007 Mobile journey is when I added saddlebags and dome tent, and finally, pic #5 when I swapped to the 32cc Tanaka and moved the saddlebags behind the seat.

On the Florida and Denver trips I just carried three tarps. A friend in NC sent me a dome tent in summer 2006. since he had used only it once.

On the dome tent photo #4, the tent poles are down below, inserted into a bottle carrier, zip tied near the pedals. The little black bag in the frame is my tool kit, hidden under the saddlebags. Now that I moved the bags, a lot of handy emergency items like a rain suit, are now carried all the time. It also solved my "air mattress" storage problems which frustrated me until a month ago.

If you look at that photo #4, there is a 4 foot bungie cord attached under the basket, looping around the seat post, which adds stability to the steering when the basket is full of weight. I only do that on overnight trips.

I made my Christmas wishes as clear as possible, a small pup tent, but misinterpretation of my needs by NON MB relatives means I now own TWO dome tents.
 

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bamabikeguy

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Those are some great pic's Bama (^)
Me and photos don't mix...I dumped thousands of digital photos in Picasa albums, before I found out they did not link like Photoshop.

I lost 100 photos from my Mt. Cheaha mountain climb when red X's appeared and I misclicked during upload.

And then there was the "infamous black dot", more than two hundred Denver trip photos where this UFO like splotch, found to be INSIDE my lens, suddenly showed up. How does a black spot get INSIDE hermetically sealed lens??!?!. I discovered it when I uploaded and run it through a slideshow. ARRRRGH !!!

It wasn't there in Florida, the first tinge shows up when I cross into Missouri from Tennessee, distinct by the time of the teaser "Ominous Pikes Peak Cloud" photo, now it becomes my everlasting personal "logo".

It isn't an original bamabikepic without the Black Spot.
 

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bamabikeguy

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I AM the Rain Man

There are umpteen special and unique things you can do traveling long distance on a bike that an auto tourist cannot experience, make you more in tune with the Pony Express than with modern day 70 mph air conditioned off ramp repetitions.

You can also "create a myth" along the way, I know exactly when and how mine started. Back in Kansas, on US 36 I pulled into a Stop and Go to refuel and refill the water bottle. I started talking to a big rig driver, who told me he heard about me on the Red Bike from when I headed west in Missouri.

Apparently I was the "talk of the CB radio" coming through the Ozarks. I told him after I got to Denver, I planned on climbing Pike's Peak smoking a cigar. (Later, in Ada, Oklahoma and someplace in W.Arkansas, two folks said they heard about my bike ride on Trucker's Radio....). After talking to the driver, I seemed to notice how the trucks always gave me a wide clearance passing, I always felt like I was in the "rockin' chair."

I don't know if the "Pike's Peak Myth" was relayed on the CB's, maybe it was more like "Where's Waldo", where was the Red Bike going to turn up next. But coming south out of Denver toward Colorado Springs, I never even SAW the top of the mountain. I tried to take 5 pictures of it as I cruised south, like Pic#1 below, and after I posed the bike in the "ominous cloud" picture, I gave up trying to get a calender shot.



I had been thinking of staying southerly toward Pueblo, but "friendly winds" shot me straight east on State Highway 94 (sign reads "next gas station 97 miles"), lunching in a dried up town called Yoder.

After about 50 miles, in the middle of nowhere, straight as an arrow 94 intersects with nearly straight north/south 71 toward Rocky Ford with shortcuts to La Junta. Halfway down 71 I saw three pronghorn antelope, then another, (a bit bigger than I thought they would be) and right after I took a snapshot, "uh oh..." I noticed a cloud buildup in the distance.

I know for a fact it is dry, a two year drought is ongoing, I crossed some 18 bridges that afternoon, only saw one puddle of water. While the wheat in Nebraska was knee high, the fields down in Oklahoma were only ankle deep, many fields being plowed under. Huge rectangular bales of hay were being trucked in from Mexico.

On the Florida trip I never hit rain. And only the third day, back in Missouri, had I needed to pull into a "House for Sale" with it's open carport to wait out a 10 minute heavy shower. I could handle anything from morning mist to medium rain without a problem.

I had also learned, when choosing a camping spot, to look for something with nearby shelter. One time, in the middle of Nowhere, Kansas, shelter was nothing but a row of round bales of hay, but most times I could find an abandoned farm or barn, where I could quickly pull my tarps onto a porch, if necessary. Up till now, I was sleeping under the stars........

But the pronghorned antelopes /"uh oh" moment was mid afternoon, I figured once I got to La Junta and headed east again, I would outrun any storm. After the "prairie dog surf" episode I kept going till the sun was setting, but was seeing no barns or sheds, no nothing...

Finally
I saw some rusty trucks, tractors and a medium size box in the weeds, a 25 foot long metal container, sitting on the ground.

Not exactly scenic, beggars can't be choosers late in the evening. But when it got dark I was admiring the huge thunder and lightning clouds passing in the distance to the south. I'm patting myself on the back, thinking I outguessed the weather.

I'm so full of myself, thinking how I would have been miserable if I had went via Pueblo. I even tried to take pix of the lightning, figuring those clouds must be in New Mexico or Texas. A peaceful sleep....what a clever fellow I am.......

The bottom dropped out around 4 a.m.

It started with a big drop waking me up, smack in the forehead.

The bike was under the container already, funny how I didn't notice half the roof was rusted away last evening.....

It is still dark, and first thing I grab is the hooded poncho, then try to stow all my gear under one tarp, use the other to try and fashion a teepee, build up a dam to divert the flow, especially when the wind swirls and whups up the rain from every direction.

For about an hour I just sit there, at first thinking about those cowboy movies, enduring these type storms. But you know the scene in "Apocolypse Now" where Martin Sheen is in the river, only his head is above water? That is about how wet I felt.

Right around dawn it stopped
. A mule deer buck is maybe 30 feet away, guarding 3 does about twice as far, he's snorting at me like one of my goats "what the heck are YOU doing here?". Mule deer are A LOT bigger than our white-tails. For ten minutes, while I'm shaking water off my gear, packing up, he's laughing and snorting at me, until I get so fed up I holler and cuss him away.

I arrived in Prowers about 6:45 a.m., 15 minutes before the only store opened. There are a pair of picnic tables in front, and a couple more farmers wander in before the owner arrives.

"The biggest rain in two years", 2 plus inches in a 90 minute bucket.

What the heck, might as well create the new myth. "I am the Rain Man" was my claim, which got me free coffee and two donuts.

When I finally left the store at 7:30 after jawing with the locals, I quickly caught back up with the rear of the storm, took the last picture on the way into Lamar, and when it was evident the cloud was going to keep going east, I made my "go south toward Springfield Colorado/Boise City Oklahoma" decision.

"What a clever guy".....again with the backpatting.

Little did I know
, by making my Rain Man Claim, dancing for donuts, it was a "MAJOR JINXING MOMENT", because I was about to enter THE WEATHER VORTEX......

(to be continued south of Springfield)
 

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bamabikeguy

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Crossing the Cimmaron Cutoff Strip

Midway between the windmill farm and Bill Bunting's studio, to the east of US 287, was Two Buttes. Like Pike's Peak, it is a landmark cowboys would have used to figure out "where the heck are we, and which way is the watering hole?"

Outside of Dodge City, KS the Santa Fe Trail splits, with a shortcut called the Cimmaron Cutoff branching southwest, and Two Buttes seems to halve the distance between the two routes. "How fer is it?"/ mileages are deceiving in flat areas, one could imagine a cattle drive or wagon train in a dust storm suddenly seeing Two Buttes on the horizon and realizing "whoa, we've strayed way off course"....

Behind me, La Junta was a major point on the main route of the Santa Fe Trail, US 287 was the north/south connection of Amarillo to Yellowstone, and Bill being a motorcycled evangelist, his recommendation for crossing the length of Oklahoma was Highway 3, a little over 600 miles. (I ended up taking about 2/3 of his advise, because my Texas stunt and following the wind to Elk City put me on a different path in the middling part).

When Bill looked at the maps of my routes thus far, he liked the idea that I was hitting so many important towns in the region, like Council Grove, Kansas, which is the main jumping off point of the Santa Fe Trail, you could see the wagon ruts at the one of the most documented crossings. This natural rockbed crossing over the Neosho River can best be seen from the north side of the Neosho River Bridge on Main Street.

It probably would take months of conversations with Bill to find out all the heritage he had been accumulating, and when he mentioned how Council Grove had been settled by Seth Hays, Daniel Boone's grandson, I brought up MY Dan'l Boone historical connection, with a direct ancestor in the pre-1776 days. Isaac Crabtree was with Daniel's son when he was killed by Indians, becoming the hothead with the King of England putting a reward for his capture, and who pretty much chased off/p*ssed off Boone, causing Boone to commence his exile years.

We traded a lot of information, plus swapped souveniers. He gave me two last recommendations, the best steakhouse in Springfield and avoid stopping in Campo.

So, I'm living large. After the Baca Weekly Don Quixote interview and the steak dinner, I pull into the Shell station on the outskirts of town, notice two red vans from Ball State University (Muncie, Indiana) doors open with all sorts of scientific gizmos on display. Students are playing hacky sack and tossing frisbees, and two teachers are sitting in beach chairs under umbrellas.

My interest is piqued, I roll up and ask "What's up?". It is only then that I see the "School of Meteorology" decals.

They are Tornado Chasers, in other words. When I tell them they were a day late, that the storm of the century passed over me, "the Rain Man", west of Lamar, they said no, they calculated that they were sitting in the center of a 100 mile area which "guaranteed some interesting tornadic possibilities".

I'm pointing at the calmish, puffy clouds and giving my first hand "Rain Man" experiences, arguing "I followed your storm, and it left Lamar early this morning". One of the professors took me into the van to look at his million dollar radar. He pointed out the clouds that hit me that morning, but punched in a few commands and showed me a greenish oblong thing. "That is what WE are following, should arrive in 2-3 hours, moving at 25-30 miles per hour."

Not wearing a watch, nor carrying a compass, avoiding newspapers and only having a cheap Time/Life portable radio for campsite entertainment, this "inside information" seems important. But I am stuck, in a due south direction, with just enough time to hit Boise City, OK and then head east on Highway 3.

I left them with my thanks for the heads up, and was soon in the Comanche Natural Grassland, take a couple of pix of buffalo (I estimate 200 staring at me as I passed) and a quick "tweaking the nose of Campo".

The Town of Campo is a Statutory Town located in Baca County, Colorado, United States. The population was 150 at the 2000 census. The town is situated on the Great Plains, straddling U.S. highway 287.

Campo has recently achieved notoriety as a small town speed trap, due to the hiring of a policeman to raise revenue from U.S. highway 287 travelers. The presence of a policeman, a judge and a jail in a town of 150 inhabitants has raised corruption and racketeering suspicions. Motorists receiving speeding citations have reported being threatened with jailing or having their licenses suspended, while at the same being told that if they pay an additional fine to the judge, the ticket will not be entered in the system.
I crossed into Oklahoma and found the intersection with the Cimmaron Cutoff. There was a covered picnic table at the stop, AND a 2 foot gap in the fence. I wheel Rocinante through the gap, and wander about 3 miles down a dusty track, and find myself between two hills, where I saw 1860-70's pioneer graffitti scratched into the rocks. This was the most treacherous part of the shortcut...
The other main branch cut southwest to the valley of the Cimarron River near the town of Ulysses and Elkhart then continued toward Boise City, Oklahoma, to Clayton, New Mexico, joining up with northern branch at Fort Union. From Watrous, the reunited branches continued southward to Santa Fe. This route was generally very hazardous because it had very little water. In fact, the Cimarron River was one of the only sources of water along this branch of the trail. Many people died because of the lack of water.

(I am at the limit of 5 pictures, and two important photos taken between those hills are very necessary to finish this episode......they would be the very LAST photos taken THAT day, fersure)


With the idea of "Treacherous", and my morning duties calling, this is a good spot to leave you in cliffhanging fashion.....(sorry).
 

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bamabikeguy

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Mapquest shows Springfield CO to Guymon, OK to be 111.53 miles, and after I left the Ball State boys at the Shell station, I would only speak to one living soul for that 111.53 mile span.

MAPQUESTDriving Directions from Springfield, CO to Guymon, OK

Maybe one more "you are here" photo will be appropriate, next to the Santa Fe Trail sign. But we are really between those two hills, off the highway, one looking east, the other "uh oh" looking west.

I hop on Rocinante and roar through Boise City, and in the middle of town ANOTHER University Tornado Chasing van, a white one this time, passed me so fast I couldn't see anything other "Texas" tags.

About a ten minutes later 2 more vans zip by, (Iowa & Arkansas tags) they must be amateurs, no decals, but headed east nonetheless.

Last movie image I gave you was soaking wet Martin Sheen stalking Marlon Brando, now think "Close Encounters of the Third Kind", when the spaceship is hovering. That was RIGHT BEHIND ME, with a Casper the Friendly Scout Cloud in front of it, racing me over my left shoulder.

Miles and miles and miles (and miles), I am just ahead of this tidal wave, feeling its push, but still, it is a horserace, and I'm barely gaining ground. I'm thinking "10 minutes ahead of the storm"......if it is moving 25 mph, I'm hitting 28.

I found this link, with photos, of a Tornado Chaser from Virginia, and now I'm thinking he's one of those nuts headed east out of Boise City.....

May 31, 2006 Colorado and New Mexico storms


May 31, 2006: Colorado and New Mexico Storms


chase images and log by William T. Hark, M.D.


May 31 was a marginal day but there was still a possibility of storms in the eastern Colorado, and northeastern New Mexico. Jason and I started in Amarillo, TX. After a steak breakfast at the Big Texan, we were about to leave when we heard a faint mewing. It was cold, windy and rainy and the mewing faded with gusts of wind. We looked around and found a kitten hiding behind the front wheel of Jason's car. It was shaking and had singed whiskers. The cat was obviously very cold and scared. It was only a few months old and was probably near the engine for warmth. We stopped by Walmart for some cat supplies including a carrier. Luckily for the cat, Jason and his wife do cat rescue. Jason named her "meso."
So the Chasers are running around in every which direction, playing with stray cats, pedals to the metal. Your friendly MB "Rain Man" was busy heading east, no understanding WHY the chasers were jumpfrogging in front of me, the storm was RIGHT BACK THERE !!

I'm WOT, you get the picture.....

I top a small rise (and the panhandle is nothing BUT small ups and downs) when I see in the distance an oncoming peddling bicyclist, loaded for cross country adventures. I stop as he approaches and say "hey buddy, I passed a shed about 3 miles back, if I were you, I'd get to it and hunker down".

Back to Dr. Hark and more of the Chasers, running around hither & yon...

After the cat was prepared with a carrier, some food, water and litter, we headed north to Boise City OK and met up with Charles Edwards of Cloud 9 Tours. Storms were already firing in Colorado. There was persistent development around Trinidad with some smaller storms to the southeast. We headed west on 160, initially targeting the storm moving east from Trinidad. Unfortunately, it became more outflow dominant. By then, one of several storms in northeastern New Mexico was becoming stronger. We dropped south on 389 through the town of Branson. Near the Capulin Volcano, we encountered minor flooding and hail. We headed southeast on 64 toward Clayton, New Mexico.
It doesn't matter where all the vans were heading, I only have one choice, Guymon or bust....I get there right at sunset, and I'm hunting shelter.....miles and miles, duskier and light is really fading when I finally spot a wooden barn, and lucky me, it has a concrete pad.

And how much rain hit 5 minutes after I stopped? Spit.

Nothing but a 2-3 minute spit. The cloud still looked like a spaceship, but the only good thing was with free coffee, donuts, lunch, the only money I spent was maybe $3 for gas that day, NOT a plane ticket and van racing around expenses like disappointed Dr. Hark:

The storm, now to our north, was all outflow. There was no chance of tornadic development. The scenery was still pretty, and Jason and I stopped to photograph the gustfront. Charles and his group stopped in Clayton for the evening. Jason and I followed the storm northeast along 412 back to Boise City, Oklahoma. There was some pretty lightning but nothing special. At one point, there was a suspicious lowering but as we got closer, it was obviously scud and an outflow feature. Jason decided to stay in Guymon before heading home. I checked some data in Guymon and decided there was not a decent possibility of tornadic development for the remainder of my vacation. I decided to drive back to Oklahoma City that night and was a able to catch a flight back to Virginia the next day. Thus, my chase vacation ended early. There's always next year.
I found out the next morning the rough weather hit up in Kansas, where I would have been IF had I stayed straight east out of Lamar, which had been the original plan.

I had dodged the bullet, the rest of my travels were weather free- except when I got lost in Arkansas, where I went twenty miles in the mist, ended up on the wrong side of the highway, 3 miles from where I started. (maybe a future tale).........
 

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bamabikeguy

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As we ride around the roads, we are seeing "tough times" seeming to be more and more visible, every time I go on a familiar route, I notice another small business has closed it's doors.

More big vehicles "For Sale" in the front yards (my neighbors '03 Tahoe dropped in loan value from $14,500 to less than $9,000 in 3 mos.), and more yard sales in general.

One of the ideas I had in 2005, when I started promoting the MB solution, was how the gas savings enjoyed could be churned back into the economy, by trying to seek out local businesses whenever possible. Twenty miles away from the bigger grocery stores, Fridays are when bread and milk are freshest, is usually the only day the car moves, (unless I have to go pick up new bikes). In other words, saving gas means when buying small items, I don't mind spending a little more at a proprietorship, knowing a chainstore would be cheaper.

Part of that inspiration was getting really irritated with the local Wal Mart, (back before I knew much about bikes), and the second one I bought had a front wheel come off because the axle nut was stripped...I realized that if I was going to hit 35 mph, better have a reliable bike assembler.

I've been able to keep up my boycott of national food franchises, especially on the long distance travels, learning the best hour to beat the rush was after 1 o'clock, how one daily "all you can eat" buffet in a small town not only saved money, but saved time in the long run.

The conversations with locals is always better at a Mom and Pop diner, here's some examples.

The first time "breakfast was on the house" was in Nashville, GA, early on a Saturday morning. After filling up with gas I asked where the best breakfast buffet could be found, and they pointed me to the county square, where antique tractors and booths were being set up, it was Agricultural Celebration Day in Berrien County, the Number One Agriculture County in Georgia.

When I got into the "Dinner Bell", the place was packed, it was an Awards Breakfast, and the only available seat was right in the middle, with a local teacher who was video taping the speeches. (thats him in the plaid shirt, against the back wall with the his camera)...

He taught Ag at the high school, and we got to talking about my bike adventures as I was eating my first plateful.

Then the ceremonies began.

I tried to be quiet and discreet as I went back to the buffet line for seconds, but then the teacher stood and said something about "having a guest from Alabama, claiming to get 250 miles per gallon"....caught me by surprise, holding a heaping plate, so I said "I'm from Cullman County, the Number One Agricultural County in Alabama, was sent here by Gov. Riley as an ambassador to celebrate the liberal use of bovine fertilizers".

Fifteen minutes later, I was still hungry, snuck back for thirds when a State Senator rose to give his spiel. When I got to the register after 90 minutes of "liberal use of bovine byproducts", hearing all the speeches and awards dispensed, the waitress told me my breakfast ticket had been paid by the same Senator. I went up to him to thank him, and he said "funny thing is, you can't even vote for me....now show me that bike of yours". About 15 farmers circled round on the sidewalk as I answered questions, an all around fulfilling morning.

Midway between Tuscumbia and Eufaula, Alabama, the grandparents of the little girl in picture #2 owned a Soul Food resturaunt, in the middle of nowhere. WITH ONE OF THE BEST OLD SCHOOL JUKEBOXES, that I loaded down with quarters for 12 picks. Nothing like a loud "Mustang Sally" to get a mealtime moving in the right direction. Collard greens and sweet potato pie on the menu...but I ordered the small catfish plate.

I let the owner's husband and his friend jump on the bike and ride it around while I sipped iced tea, and when the order arrived, it had 3 huge fillets and something called "spicy french fries". When I protested, saying I ordered the small plate, the lady said "you look like you ain't had a good meal in days," the little girl helped me eat the fries, and toward the end of the meal, came out of the kitchen carrying me a bowl of peach cobbler, another thing I hadn't ordered.

Same thing happened on the southern part of the Okefeenokee Swamp, there was one cross roads called St. George. I was freshly on day one of the return trip after spending a week in Fernandina Beach with a friend, and when I pulled up under the canopy of the diner, a bicyclist pulling a trailer passed, turned northwesterly on the same Highway 2 I would use headed up to Homerville...but that would be nearly an hour later, because again, the timing was right, no lunch rush, and the owner really packed the plate. I got all the local lore about the swamplands, and the next year, when fires broke out with smoke drifting up our way, I heard St. George was surrounded by flames, worried about my diner friends.

By doing business at Mom and Pop establishments, you can gain ten times the information and heritage, sights and special locations, as having some teenager toss a Big Mac in a bag and ring it up.

Food tastes so much better on the road anyway, but then you get to sample other things, like apricot pastries in Kansas. Even better, I ordered bar-b-que beef in Kansas, and was talking to the cook about the differences in sauces. Next thing I know, a second plate with pork and chicken samples came to the table.

I had ate at plenty of Chinese resturaunts, but in Bolivar, Missouri found a Korean buffet, and the cook made me a small dish of a shrimp broil after complimenting him on the spices. It wasn't something he offered on the buffet, but it only took him three minutes to serve it up.

At one place on the Georgia/Alabama line, I was talking to a guy about my mapped route north, he said, "you can shave off eighteen miles with this shortcut, it's not on the map, just a country road that goes over the hill rather than around it". A nice little rolling road that saved me an hour of ride time.

In a later episode, I'll give you the Deer Creek Camping Nightmare, and how I used future lunchtime conversations to avoid that ever happening again.
 

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bamabikeguy

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Thanks !!

your writing makes me feel i am there :)
That is part of the fun, I don't have to describe how good it feels to have a brisk ride in the morning, or outrunning a thunderstorm exactly one mile faster than the cloudbank, or surprising some rare animal or bird that motorists would NEVER notice.

We've all traveled by car, stayed in identically designed motels on the interstates, I'll bet a lot of MBer's were Scouts in their youthful days, have memories of camping, and how "Be Prepared" is very important to a MB.

In other words, we all know we can DO IT, time/career/family might constrain you, but still, in your mind, it is just as real, putting yourself in Rocinante's saddle. Just like watching or reading "Lonesome Dove", wondering if you could survive like those pioneers.

The major difference in traveling long distance on a Motorized Bike is the simplicity, because you built it, after a little experience, you know how to do emergency fixes and repairs, so you don't have that Tow Truck/AAA mentality. You already know after a half hour of sweating under a tree fixing a wheel, you will dry off/cool off in the breeze once you get back on the road.

When you hear a strange noise/vibration, knowing full well you hit a pothole moments ago, you stop and don't have a sense of "dread", because you brought tools and tubes and zipties and ducttape, find a shady spot and you are pretty positive you can either get it back in shape, or minimally, you can limp to the next town and get-er-dun.

There is always a "hopefulness" about the road ahead, in my case, I always know where I'm headed (generally), but forget the names of the towns I already passed through, UNLESS I take a little time to explore older parts of a town, because the main drags all look similar, auto parts and burger joints.

Motorists depend on a mechanic to tell them what is wrong, and cowboys were dependent on water for the horse and a blacksmith if "Ol Paint" threw a shoe. We can beat those limitations with a little planning.

And because fellow MBer's already understand the fun of seeing the landscape at a leisurely 25 miles per hour, they can seperate themselves mentally from the rat race going on in the traffic, where all the cars now look the streamlined cookie cutter same, and any driver who isn't staying with the 70 miles per hour pack mentality "speed/flow" is subject to road rage.

We all wish there was not so much litter on the road, but still, if something perks our curiosity, we can pull up, stop/explore, and take a few moments to "figure it out", and then think about it deeper as we resume our ride.

There have been so many times I've seen some new crop or odd structure or unique mountain range, and then you spend 10 miles thinking about it until you meet a stranger, ride right up to him and ask "what the heck was that orange thing 5 miles back?"

We are all constantly talking to strangers, which is a fun thing, proving to ourselves that good folk live all around, only the accents change.

Motorists and tourists can't do that as much, they come off as pushy/nosy or ignorant, and while we ARE ignorant about the foreign territory when on an adventure, at least the bicycle gives the stranger the chance to ask his own questions.

It makes the rider and the stranger equal in curiosity, both come away with a new knowledge, and usually the local gets the better end of the story, about the idiot passing through on a bike contraption. "You ain't gonna believe this, boys......"

I don't know how many times a car or pickup has followed me, then a few miles ahead I see him parked at a gas station, waving me in with a few others standing there, "what the heck is that???"

Likewise, another part of the fun writing for you folks is a simple "fact" doesn't have to be debated.

When I explain that carrying two pairs of denim jeans cross country is a BAD IDEA, because the morning dew makes them heavier and un-dryable rolled up and packed in the carrybag, whenever you do decide to take a trip, you'll possibly remember that advise.

(AND, when you forget reading about me having to dump 600 page paperbacks, heavy thread count sheets, half bottles of bug repellent and clunky heavy sandals, all in the quest to lighten my load, you WILL remember it when you encounter it in person !!!) Fleece hoodies being GREAT will dawn on you when you carry a backpack.

So, Bill, in fact YOU already have been there, when you read a road-trip story and have hundreds of motorized bike miles under your belt, it doesn't take very much imagery to "get the humor".

If it isn't fun, then why do it?

When I tell you guys how stupid I felt sitting in front of a laundrymat in Florida, you will understand what a GENIUS I was in Ada, Oklahoma, throwing all my old t-shirts in a Goodwill box, restocking my shirt supply for less than a $1. Getting back on the road in moments, not an wasting an hour, plus spending less money than it would take to wash them.

Again, thanks for the input and feedback !!

I hope we can keep the spirit of AMUSEMENT alive on this forum, not worry about the screwed up outside world.
 

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Spunout

MB Builder Extraordinaire
Jul 21, 2008
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cool thread, Bama. you said "I hope we can keep the spirit of AMUSEMENT alive on this forum, not worry about the screwed up outside world." very good.

believe it or not, my mileage is similar to yours, 25miles/day 5days/week for last 2 1/2 yrs. but ALL in tucson, and that sux. this this green? its envy.
 

BroBillnTexas

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Aug 29, 2008
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Bama,
I have just joined this forum and find your stories of On The Road Again very enticing. I was born in Tuscumbia, Al and lived in Birmingham for two years after high school. I sure do missed those scenic rides I had while back there. Remember the hill in Birmingham where one have to pedal going downhill and be ready to use the brakes going uphill. It was an optical illusion, had fun taking others over that hill. Is it still there?

Would like to get back into saddle again and with all the new toys now, was wondering where do I go from here now? What does one look for in motors for the bike, fuel tank size, gears and etc?
 

Saddletramp1200

Custom MB Buiilder
May 7, 2008
1,451
83
48
Houston, Texas
Welcome Bill! Thatsdax has a great motor & and service to back it up! Duane is first class people, Pablo keeps you running right with Amsoil, Andyinchvile keeps you going faster or slower with awesome sprockets, and Spookytooth has about anything you need. And I try to help when I can.
 

Ludwig II

Well-Known Member
Jul 17, 2012
5,071
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There's a wonderful message there, get out and MEET people. Don't be afraid, enclosed, limited. Get out there and be a human being and enjoy the company of all the other human beings you find.