Day 6: Graves of Gold

Best Ride of the Trip, So Far–The 40 mile leg of Hwy 290 between Fredericksburg and I10. Great road. Great views.
Most Notable Terrain Feature of the Day–What feature? Oil pumps on a sea of dead grass, covering flat, boring land which is sparsely punctuated by under-nourished trees is not quite a “feature.” I look forward to the Sandias. In Carlsbad tonight.

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Texas Hospitality
Bought spark plugs this morning to replace the ones ruined by yesterday’s “bad gas” incident. Mistake of the morning: started the ride without putting them in. A few miles down the road (oh, say about five) problems ensured. Pulled off onto an access road and started the plug changing. Five minutes later, a guy pulls over in his truck to ask if I need help. He says, “Is your gas bad? I got a bucket we can drain it into. I don’t know how big your gas tank is, but I have five or six gallons of gas in back.” How could the “helpful guy” state also be the “dummy pres” state? Crazy. After telling jokes over a couple of Mountain Dews the plugs are finally in, Justine is happy, Curtis M. goes off to continue checking/repairing oil pumps, and Curtis B. is off to continue his westward trek.

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This Costs How Much?
For the third time on this trip, I am a bit annoyed by a restaurant that charges New York restaurant prices for New York deli food. I managed to get a reasonable steak tonight, but over-cooked vegetables and a wilted salad bar should automatically place the upper limit at ten bucks. (Why do restaurants think charging more will make bad food better?) I have now confirmed that if food were my prime deciding factor, there are just a few places in the U.S. in which I could live: New York City, Los Angeles, San Francisco, The French Quarter, Provincetown, and Niles, Ohio (Niles for Italian food only).

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Fashion
Blue jeans, cowboy boots, cowboy shirt and stetson. That has been the uniform of choice in Texas–always worn sans irony.

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Austin and San Antonio are each 30% Latino.

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Just an hour away from LA.

Day 5: In the Heart of the Enemy Camp

Driving Horror
The high speed roadways of Houston are deathtraps. The same is true of Austin. I would feel more comfortable on a mortocycle in New York City.

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Austin Hospitality
The capital city is cool, but Justine wasn’t impressed. Got gas from my new friend, bp. Should have been nice and easy. Half a mile later: no power and multiple backfires. I pull onto a side street hoping it would work itself out. It got worse. The engine didn’t stop; it just limped along. I turn Justine off. By now mechanically inclined guys were standing in front of four different garages and carports along the street asking if I needed a hand. After eleven years in NYC, I assumed they must all be part of the same gang and that they were working together on some heinous plan to steal Justine away from me. Turns out it’s a streetfull of mechanics. Me: Is this for real? So before you know it, Alex (the elected motorcycle expert) says, “You got some bad gas. What gas station were you at? Let’s drain the tank.” Next thing you know, I’m cleaning and regapping my spark plugs, draining gas and riding off to his favorite gas station to get “safe” gas. I was back on the road within two hours, after leaving behind a case of Bud Ice.

Austin Sightings
Bumper stickers on a Toyota Hybrid: Religion Is Just A Cult With More People; Meat Is Murder. My thought: wrong state, buddy. Bumper stickers on a Nissan(?) truck: Tree Hugging Dirt Lover; Use Alternative Fuels. My thought: Why do people go places that will cause them pain? I remember, then, that it is Austin, there is a university, there are good films and good music, and Austin is a progressive town. By Texas standards, it’s New York.

—
Frying Pan to Fire
I’ve effected my escape from Austin. In spite of the mechanical hospitality and my desire to hear some tunes, the vibe wasn’t quite right today. I drove on; maybe I can be out of Texas by Saturday evening. That turned out to be an iffy idea as well. Route 290 runs through the middle of nowhere. No gas. No food. No hotel. I finally make it to a town that is large enough to have multiple stoplights. Numerous hotels, but they are all filled. (I still have no idea why.) Finally, one of the clerks refers me to one that he knows has vacancies. Very nice. Hanger Hotel. It’s built inside an old aircraft hangar. Impressive. I think the work is specific enough to indicate that there was actually an architect on hand for this. The interior is great. Nice bar also. Maybe the bar clouded my vision.

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Retreaded Thought for the Day
There’s only one driver: pleasure.

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Weird Stuff I Can’t Fix Right Now
My tanning pattern. Burned my forearms while traipsing around Florida. They’re now peeling. My face is more tan where it’s not covered by helmet or sunglasses, in spite of the fact that I’m usinq 45 sun block. I’m placing a call to M.J. tomorrow.

Day 4: Bound for Houston

The Long Haul
July 28: New Orleans to Houston. Long ride today. One of the two longest ones planned for the entire trip. The longest will be the stretch from Austin to Ft. Stockton.

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Notable Sightings
1. Almost no motorcycles traveled along this strip. There were maybe three sightings all day.
2. Ten miles east of Beaumont, a truck was pulled over by the police. An unlucky, pudgy Latino guy was in handcuffs; the back of the truck was open to reveal a car inside; and the Boss Hog-looking trooper did not appear to have any trace of humor.
3. There is an 18 mile stretch of road over a swamp west of Baton Rouge. How did people get through here 60 years ago?
4. Louisiana places these signs along the road where there are workers: Be Careful My Daddy Works Here. I couldn’t see one without hearing these words (in the voice of Raven O or Tennessee Williams): Yes, I know, honey; I know.
5. I10 in the Florida panhandle is the most “nurturing” section of road to date. The trees grow close to the road, seeming to embrace it. Louisiana’s road’s seem indifferent. By Texas, the shades of green, while they haven’t disappeared, no longer dominate the scenery. The greys, blacks and ecrus of the roadway become the dominant feature. There’s plenty of green still out there, but it’s not nearly as inviting.

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Houston Ain’t So Bad
The Montrose(?) section of town seems OK. The bed and breakfast is within walking distance of quite a few restaurants and bars. The house itself is great. Very unexpected. Friendly crowd at breakfast and some friendly, safe conversation from grandparents who came from Louisiana to see The Phantom of the Opera. One guy came in briefly to wolf down his cereal. Short, a little soft around the middle and bearded, he seemed very NYC.

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And Another Thing
I think Mariah and Trent should have a child. That could produce some interesting tunes.

Day 3

The Stare
At 6:30 am I got up and hit the road to beat the heat for five miles. It was not fun. One thing I had time to think about though is the way people here look at you before they say hello. There’s the long, hard stare followed by “hello.” Maybe a nod or a smile comes along with the hello. Seems my bro-in-law comes by this tick honestly.

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Television
The best thing about a vacation is the accessibility of television. Not having one of my own, anytime I visit someone or find myself in a hotel, I make sure to find out what makes the rest of the country tick. Seems we’re a country of useless silicone implants. It’s been bad nearly every step of the way (not that I plan on turning the TV off), but this morning was particularly egregious. Jonathan Fracas on some SciFi channel show. Format: five vignettes, you decide which is “real.” I recently thought I would take any writing job in the entertainment industry. It seems I was mistaken.

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Breakfast
Cafe du Monde was packed with an obnoxious tourist crowd. I left after my cappucino and went to a cafe closer to the hotel. I got rained in there for an hour and a half, but I had a lot of fun watching the locals. One guy came in, asked for a bag, and sat at a table near the door. He spent the next five or ten minutes counting and recounting approximately $3000 worth of $100 and $20 bills out. He then placed them in the bag. A lady behind me was talking to a friend when the rain started. She was facing the window, so she must have seen it. About 10 minutes later another of her friends came over. She said, “Isn’t that your dog?” The first lady screamed and ran outside. She untied the dog, brought it across the street under the eave, retied it, and came back in soaked to the bone.

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Lunch
A restaurant on Decatur. Asian-Cajun cuisine. Huh?

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Music
Did a walkabout. Nothing of interest, so I went into the Virgin store. It had a selection quite different for that found in other cities the last time I was here, and the same was true this time. Their top 10 was Zydeco, Cajun and jazz that I’d never heard before. I did a quick listen, but I moved on to more standard fare relatively quickly. The new NIN is great. Nothing new, but it a style of music he practically invented, so he still sounds the best doing it. Finally listened to the newest Mariah Carey album. Not by choice. I was looking at the cover as I listened to Trent. A guy who had been there when I first walked up, returned and put the headphones on again. He said something I couldn’t understand. I took off my headphones so I could hear him. He put the Mariah headphones on my head. “She busts out on this one,” he says. I nod. He is as enthusiastic as a 6 year old. He dances in place along to Mariah. He leaves. I decide to give the album a listen. It’s OK. I think she under-uses her voice, but what do I know? I went over to listen to the new Jack Johnson (pretty good), and as soon as I moved, another guy came over to listen to Mariah (he was followed by two more). I had to take a look outside to make sure that I hadn’t accidentally been teleported to Chelsea. I guess the thing that reassured me–kinda–was that these guys where clearly not on the Chelsea team. I moved on to the Killers, Soel, and Louis Devito. After Soel, I ran into a guy who was at the bar yesterday–the dart player. He was deadly accurate, cleaning everyone’s clock. I walked by as he was rocking out to the Killers complete with air guitar. He waved. I waved. I left.

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The Sidewalk
Two guys painted silver where just sitting on paint buckets. There seemed to be nothing special about them except that they were painted silver. They weren’t doing or not doing anything. People stared and moved on. Their buddies stood around talking to the silver guys.

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Mules?
Mules or donkeys? How come they don’t use horses to pull the tourist carriages? It took me a while to figure it out, but once I got a look at the drivers, it became clear. No self-respecting horse would be seen with anyone dressed so badly. One guy wore a white, short-sleeved shirt; primary red shorts; black, pointy-toes dress shoes; sheer, bright-red, knee-high socks; and a straw hat with a purple and white bandana. I crossed to the other side of the street. One never knows which diseases are communicable

—
Mesostic
Just got a call from Chris C. I was supposed to meet him in New Orleans, but I figured that I was running so far behind schedule (10 days) that there was no chance. Seems he’s running 12 days behind schedule. I may have to extend this party.

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Beer Blast
Starlight for the Wednesday special. Very busy. The regulars were there (including dart player guy, who I finally realized looks like the young version of my grandfather). They were quite a bit more conversational.

Day 2

N’awlins

Good start today. A hearty Snickers bar for breakfast, and I was off and rolling by 9 am. The weather was good most of the way. I managed to skirt all of the rain promised by The Weather Channel. Debated a sidetrip to Birmingham, but I still hadn’t contacted Alabama Rick, so I cruised on by that exit (knowing full well there would be hell to pay for this…rightly so). Before I got that far though, there was the Florida I10 rest stop at mile marker 162. The exit ramp was more than a mile long. Why is this park out in the middle of nowhere? Why is a park being used as a rest stop? Who knows. From there is was on to Pensicola, and then, finally, I was out of Florida.
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Swee-tea, hon?

I stopped for lunch at one of the first exits in ‘bama. I decided to set the balance aright by eating at a Waffle House this time. It was quite respectable looking by Waffle House standards (are there really any other standards?).

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Welcome to Mississippi

One of the poorest states has one of the most impressive welcome centers I’ve ever seen. I wanted to get a room there. The lady at the desk, however, was Manhattan condescending. I thought to myself, “You’re living and working Mississippi; what do you have to be condescending about?” I never quite figured out whose insecurites were at work–too many miles to travel to worry about it.
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The Big Easy

Finally past all the river deltas and bridges and into New Orleans. An hour later than I had planned because of frequent stops. On the other hand, I gained an hour because of the time change. (I’m an hour closer to LA. Yippee.) In the meantime, the hotel I’d planned to stay at was booked because I never make a reservation because I couldn’t figure out exactly when I would be in town and I didn’t want to commit myself to a schedule that would make this whole trip seem like work. Not to worry (geek alert), my Sony Ericsson P910 is full of info I collected on my last trip. Between that and a little judicious surfing, I found a guest house I’d scouted out on that trip. Cool. Dropped off my bags, parked the bike, showered and changed.
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A Starlit Afternoon

Went out right away looking for something to eat. I chose fluid sustenance at Starlight bar. Two dollar drafts–it was love at first sight. Actually, it was second sight. I was there on my last trip. It’s a fairly neighborhoody bar. The bartender seemed to have missed all the mandatory, childhood, gender identity classes. Long hair tucked under a baseball cap, red t-shirt covering small breasts, jeans holding up a small potbelly and a man’s tenor voice. (Seems to be a theme. The bartender I had 2 years ago was much the same. He was 6’4″ or so–no potbelly here–hairy and had a deep voice. He, also, was dressed as a guy. He said he was beyond sex and gender and just looking for a man who could handle that. I realized that sentence was my cue to leave.) At any rate, by the time I left on this trip, the sun was still out. I grabbed a bite and spent an hour or two perusing the denizens of N.O.

Afterwards,
I was too tired to drink any more, so I made it an early night.

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Thought for the Day
A while back, a friend told me what he thought were the two drivers for the human race: sex and bench press. I totally agreed with “sex”; I wasn’t so sure about bench press, but I could see the logic. That was a while back. Presently, I think the drivers are probably pretty much pleasure and power.

Day 1

50 West, 27 North

Frantically mailed off things that I decided–at the last minute–not to carry: motorcycle jacket (90+ degrees for the entire route–what was I thinking?), wet weather gear (why would I ride in the rain…I’m not on a time schedule), spare clothes (too much stuff to keep clean), saddlebags (I have built in saddlebags…on my waist), guidebook (when this is over, I’m writing my own guidebook).

Finally got going at 10:30 or so. Debated Waffle House or Bob Evans for breakfast. (The proper amount of grease in my veins makes me feel at home.) Bob won. WTF!? Amazon waitress would not refill my sweet tea. When I’m famous, I will have her job. (Actually, since I’m unemployed, I need it now.) The other waitress looked like Christina Ricci with a lot more forehead (one would think that impossible, but I saw it). The place was filled with cotton tops. (Which reminds me, after having breakfast with my dad last week, the waiter brought over the check. Dad and I tussled. I won. I looked at the check. The guy gave us both senior discounts. I left this tip for him: get your eyes checked.)

Stayed on the backroads for early part of the afternoon, but that started to seem too slow. Great scenery though. Lots of motorcyclists were out–ninety percent without helmets. Future Quads of America.

Things you shouldn’t do

I75, exit 374, Café Risqué, just south of Gainesville. A sad reminder of what can go horribly wrong in the world of women who dance and the men who tip them. I decided to leave the backroads and make up some time. Then I decided that I should just pop into this place because I thought it was a place I stopped at with some friends while in college. If it’s the same place, it’s standards have declined. There was quite a bit of borderline disfigurement both on and off the stage. This next is a public service announcement: g-strings are not attractive. Ever. Not on women. Not on men. Not peeking, ever so subtly, over the waistband of your jeans as you bend over. Not ever, not ever, not ever.

“Will that be all, baby?”

That’s what the sales clerk at the bp station said when I payed for gas and a Gatorade. I love a southern accent. I always forget that Florida is the south…at least once you get to the northern part of the state. I’ve been called baby, hon and bubba enough times today to nearly wash away all memories of my northern life.

Bedtime. I have to have some energy for N’awlins.

Day 0: Left coast, here I come

Finally decided to really do this (the trip and the blog), after months of leaving myself every possible out.