|
Embarking on an Ill Advised Trip
Monday, March 7, 2005 Day Eight The day begins bright and beautiful.
Phyllis, 70, and her new husband, 80, struck up conversation with us while we were getting our gear all packed up. Ron was getting a little impatient to get on the road, but Phyllis insisted on bending our ears for a bit.
They are from Kalamazoo, Michigan, and Phyllis gave me her phone number and asked me to come visit in the summer so that she could introduce me to her daughter! We finally extricated ourselves at about 8:00, and got on our way. Around noon, we reached El Paso, Texas, home of the World's largest Harley Davidson dealer.
The showroom was HUGE!
On display were several custom Harleys.
We spent close to an hour and about $100 each on T shirts for ourselves and as gifts for friends. A Tex Mex lunch hit the spot and we hit the road again. We stopped to stretch our legs a bit at a nondescript spot in the middle of absolutely no where. I began to question the wisdom of our resting spot when I saw this sign.
On closer inspection, the fenced-in yard had toy poodles in it! Next to this place was a prime piece of real estate for anyone interested in developing a prime motel/gas station roadside resting spot.
The rest of the day's ride was just more of the same, sage brush desert and endless Interstate highway. We stopped for the night in Ozona, Texas, home of the Goat Roping World Championships. We were told by a local chick at the gas station that the motel down the street had cheap rooms, and really cheap rooms. She warned us NOT to take one of the really cheap rooms. We asked the girl working there where the local bikers hang out. She said, "I don't think we have any local bikers." She also expressed a desire to join us on our trip to Bike Week. Why is it that it is always the fat ugly chicks who are so willing for adventure? In conversation with the old guy behind the counter at the motel, we asked the same question. He said, "Well, we've got a few biker wanna-be's who ride around with a bandanna on their heads like they are somefuckinbody." He then said, "Yeah, if I found myself suddenly single, that is just what I'd do, I'd get a Harley, hit the road and just travel around." I asked him about the steak house just up the street. "The Hitching Post" was a semi-seedy looking place with a rough-sawn lumber and corrugated steel aesthetic. He said that's where he usually takes his wife, so off we went. We were being served by a fetching Mexican girl with long hair well below her waist. Then these three "cowboys" came in. They were literally covered with shit, and they reeked. I don't know, I think that if I was going out to dinner, I might clean up a bit. Turned out, they were not "cow"boys, they were sheep boys. Ron managed to think up several smart-aleck remarks to make to them. I said, "Dude, you're gonna get my ass kicked!" Fortunately, he kept his "Are you a real cowboy?" cracks to himself, and we ate a lousy salad, and a mediocre steak in peace. The day's ride covered 459 miles. Ron was getting a little frustrated that we were not covering more miles each day with all of our stop-overs and being slowed by rain. Go to NEXT DAY'S STORY |
|
