This is my old 2004 Fatboy sitting on a low water crossing on Cow Creek Road in Texas - It's from back in 2005 when I was just getting started ringing up 95,000 miles on this bikeI pulled out of the Motel 6 and into the rain around 6:20 and began Day 2 of my ride. My motel was on the east side of Seymour, so the initial stretch of US-50 guided me through town and eventually onto the open road. The rain was persistent, but not very heavy. Plus, once you’re wet it really doesn’t make much difference whether you’re getting wetter or not. The biggest problem was keeping my glasses and the windshield clear enough to be able to see with some degree of success.
I rode 40 miles from Seymour to Bedford and decided to take a break from the rain and grab my traditional ride breakfast, a sausage burrito and cup of coffee at McDonalds. The TV at McDonalds was tuned into one of the news channels, but I was lucky enough to catch the weather segment. Unfortunately, the radar looked green all the way across Indiana, but there was a glimmer of hope that it would be drying up by the time I hit the Illinois border, a mere 70 miles away. I finished my breakfast, used a dozen napkins to dry the seat I had occupied and headed back out into the rain. The rain was lighter than when I stopped, so that was some good news.
Dripping Springs, TX, again back in 2005. The Road King in the foreground belongs to my riding buddy, Jerry
The stretch of US-50 from Bedford to Loogootee was one of the best parts of the ride in Indiana. Too bad it was still raining and the road was wet because this stretch had some nice hills and curves that would have been more fun at higher speeds. It passes through a section of the Hoosier National Forest and crosses the White River in a little town called Shoals.
At least the radar didn’t lie to me. The rain let up a few miles east of the Wabash River and I began to see some blue sky for the first time that day. The Wabash forms the border between southern Indiana and Illinois. It looked like I might get the chance to dry out. I made a gas stop in Olney, Illinois, but for the most part, my trek across Illinois was nothing to write home about, so I won’t bore you with any details. US-50 passes through flat farmland and I rode it most of the way across Illinois and, near Scott AFB, entered I-64 for the westward haul into St. Louis.
My arrival time into St. Louis was poor. It turns out the Cardinals were playing the Cincinnati Reds in an afternoon game. Traffic was backed up on I-64 into East St. Louis and I puttered my way across the Mississippi River in stop-n-go, bumper-to-bumper traffic. Normally, I would have bypassed St. Louis to the south, but this trip I wanted to see the Gateway Arch again. Of course, the Arch is within sight of Busch Stadium, home of the Cardinals, so me and thousands of my closest buddies were headed to the same spot and exiting on the same exit.
This pic is actually from this ride. In St. Louis at the Mississippi River and the I-64 Bridge I puttered across that day.
In hindsight, I was kicking myself because I realized later I could have crossed the Mississippi on the Eads Bridge or the Martin Luther King Bridge and probably avoided some traffic. Oh well, next time I’ll either do that or remember to check the baseball schedule ahead of time. Still, I eventually made it into town and was able to get my picture of the Gateway Arch. Getting out of town was much easier and before I knew it, I was on I-44 sneaking quietly out of St. Louis and into the Missouri countryside.
The Gateway Arch in St. Louis
I made a gas stop about 35 miles southwest of St. Louis in Pacific and was back on I-44 west for another 130 miles and gas in Lebanon. By the time I arrived in Lebanon, I was beginning to see more threatening clouds to the west. I used my phone to do a quick check of the weather and it indicated there were thunderstorms in Kansas and Oklahoma. My plan was to peel off of I-44 and move slightly northwest to US-54 and take it west into Wichita, Kansas for the night. The weather in Kansas looked pretty rough, including severe thunderstorm warnings and watches. The weather in Oklahoma wasn’t much better, but the storms were spread out a little more and it seemed like my chances for sneaking between storms was better.
I decided to make a call to my in-laws to see if they were home and, if they were, ask my father-in-law what the weather was doing and see if I could crash at their house that night. He was at his rental property in Tulsa and a storm has just passed through dropping some rain and hail. It was a quick storm and, by the time we were talking, the sun was back out, but there were more dark clouds to the west. The bad news was that the storm that had just passed through Tulsa was traveling from the southwest to the northeast and that meant it was coming straight up I-44 from Tulsa toward Joplin, Missouri. Still, even with that info, the weather in Oklahoma looked less dangerous than what I was hearing about Kansas. It was decision time. I knew what to expect on the road between Lebanon and Tulsa (I-44), since I’ve ridden/driven it many times. I didn’t know anything about US-54 (my original planned route) in western Missouri or eastern Kansas. I opted to make a run for my in-laws house in Bristow, Oklahoma even though that meant abandoning my ride plan through Kansas and Colorado.
A 2006 shot of the Fatboy on one of my first rides after moving to Virginia. This is Carr Lane. I didn't know it was going to be a dirt road when I turned down it, but it was a great ride.
The next leg was another 120 miles of I-44 and I hit rain just as I was entering Joplin, Missouri. Joplin sits about 8 miles from the northeastern border of Oklahoma and the southeastern border of Kansas. Since the rain had just started, I didn’t have my rain gear on. Luckily, I was able to find a gas station before getting too wet and used the opportunity to top off the tank.
A couple of years later, in the fall of 2008, I was riding on Carr Lane again when I saw this eagle enjoying a feast on a deer. I assume the deer was shot and left by someone since the head was removed as a trophy. This bird was probably 3 feet tall. He looked like a small child standing out in the field.I need to whine for a second. By the time I stopped in Joplin I had done 250 miles (130 miles from Pacific to Lebanon and 120 miles from Lebanon to Joplin) with only the gas/weather stop in Lebanon. Anyone that rides long distances will tell you that 100-plus mile runs on a bike can be very, (how should I say it?), butt-numbing. By the time I made the stop in Joplin, my butt hurt, my back hurt and I was tired. Needless to say, donning my rain gear was an adventure. At least I didn’t fall down in the middle of the gas pumps, but that was only because I was close enough to the bike to take one hop and plop down on the seat before I busted my butt in front of God and everyone. I decided to stick my feet through the rain pants in a more relaxed, sitting position.
Another of my favorite roads in Virginia, Foxcroft Road.
By my calculations I was 145 miles from Bristow and could make the remaining part of the trip without the need for gas. This meant that if I found a break in the weather, I was going to go for it and ride straight through. As honorable as this intention might have been, it was a moot point. The weather wasn’t going to take a break. It was simply going to supply me with alternating shots of light rain, heavy rain, hellacious rain, and, just for kicks, the occasional hailstones.
The first round of hail tapped off the windshield, my helmet, and other parts of the bike and me, but didn’t deter my progress too much. It wasn’t pleasant, but it wasn’t impenetrable either. I rode slower and stayed in the right lane for most of the time, but I was still able to keep moving southwest. That is until I hit another round of pea-sized hail a few miles down the road.
This time I was unfortunate enough to take a shot to the cheek bone just under my right eye. Besides it hurting like hell, it also caused my eye to water and between the rain on my glasses, the rain on my windshield and the generally shitty conditions, that eye wasn’t of much use. My left eye told me there was an overpass coming up. I made an immediate decision to pull under it and wait out this part of the storm. I misjudged my speed and the wet conditions and slid through the cover of the overpass and came to a stop sitting in the rain and hail. I pushed the bike backwards until I was shielded from the storm and within 30 seconds the hail had stopped and the worst of the rain seemed to have passed. In other words, had I kept riding another quarter of a mile, I probably would have come out of it without having to experience a long distance skid and the effort of pushing the bike backwards. At least the stop gave me a chance to rub my cheek and dry my glasses (not that it mattered much since they were spotted with rain drops within seconds of pulling out from under the overpass).
By the time I made my sliding stop, I was 25 miles into Oklahoma and riding on the Will Rogers Turnpike. Ain’t it grand that Oklahoma takes I-44 and turns it into a toll road to get across the state? I know I love being given the opportunity to pay for the privilege of riding on highways that tax dollars built. Oklahoma’s excuse is that the tolls pay for maintenance. Yeah, right.
I got this shot of Jerry cruising by on one of our Texas rides.
Anyway, I digress. Another 20 miles and I was able to pull over into the turnpike service area and take refuge with two other motorcycles. The rain continued to ebb and flow from light rain (enough to be really annoying) to outright downpours. I still had 100 miles to go and from where I sat, it didn’t look like it was going to be much fun. I called my in-laws to let them know I might be a little later than I had planned.
Another shot of Jerry riding in Tennessee on one of our Daytona trips.
I never saw one of the other motorcycle riders at that stop. I assume he decided to sit in the McDonalds and relax. The other rider was a true biker. He walked out of the convenience store by the gas pumps where we had parked the bikes. He wore jeans, sweatshirt and leather jacket and vest. That’s right, no sissy rain gear for this guy. His Road King was decked out with ape hangers and he didn’t require the use of a windshield. To top it off, he was headed to Lawton, Oklahoma, another 175 miles past my destination. We discussed the weather, with particular interest and disdain for the hail.
After 20 minutes, I decided I had wasted enough time and pulled back out into the rain. I guess it was probably 20 or 25 miles down the road when my biker friend past me. He had the Road King roaring around 80 MPH and rode like he owned the Will Rogers Turnpike. I gave him some room, twisted the throttle and rolled along behind him until we reached the outskirts of Tulsa. The rain tapered off east of Tulsa. The roads were still wet and traffic increased, but for the most part, I cruised through Tulsa without incident.
I don't remember the name of the road, but this was another one of my path less traveled routes through Texas from a few years ago.
Bristow is 20 miles southeast of Tulsa right off the Turner Turnpike (Oklahoma likes to change the name of the turnpikes between cities, but this is still I-44). The better thing about Bristow is that Route 66 runs right through town. This is the famous Route 66 that crosses the US from Chicago to Los Angeles. I rode Route 66 from Chicago to Clinton, Oklahoma back in 2003. Since I had chosen to turn southwest versus going through Kansas and Colorado, I now had the opportunity to do a few more miles of Route 66.
I stopped in Bristow to fill up the tank, so I would be able to jump on the bike and head out of town first thing in the morning. Of course, while I was pumping the gas, the rain started again. I only had to traverse 2 miles of Route 66 to get to my in-laws, but I had just begun to dry out. Oh well, whatta ya gonna do? I pulled into the in-laws place having slapped another 700 miles on the bike that day with large chunks of that mileage in the rain. I was 1330 miles from home and still had 1230 miles to go to get to Vegas.
Home Sweet Home for the first 5 months that I lived in Virginia. I shared my 200 sq ft of luxury living with the motorcycle. Good times!
My mother-in-law treated me to a bowl of chili and I spent a relaxing evening hanging out with her and my father-in-law. Since I made a dramatic change in my route to Las Vegas, I plotted out a new route that would let me do parts of Route 66 as far as Kingman, Arizona. As is usually the case, the well thought out and masterful ride plan I completed a month before leaving home was shot to hell by the second day of the ride. Jerry Evans, who has ridden cross country with me many times, will tell you it is standard operating procedure when riding with me. Mostly the route is made up on the fly. I think that’s one of the things that make my rides interesting. I may have an ultimate destination in mind, but even I don’t know exactly how I’m going to get there.
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