Say Cheese

In the lovely town of Tillamook, OR is the Tillamook County Creamery Association (aka Tillamook Cheese). They've been making cheese here for over 100 years, and I can say that their cheese is pretty damn tasty. So when I saw the big cheesy signs, I just had to stop in for a peek.

They had a whole visitor center set up with informational video presentations, life-size cow mock-ups, and, naturally, a cheesy gift shop. You could even sample a variety of cheeses and learn how cheese is made. Who knew that "cheddar" could be used as a verb?

Truth in Advertising Part II...?

I really have nothing more to add here that won't get me in trouble with someone...

Truth in Advertising...?

OK, the people running this place are just asking to get busted...

Surf's Up

You see these signs over and over up the coast of Oregon on 101. I actually don't remember if they were there five years ago when I last drove the Oregon coast. Perhaps they've been put up as a response to the tsunami earlier this year in the Indian Ocean...? I dunno, but they must add a little perspective to the lives of the people living on the coast there. Many of the people living in the fantastic homes right on the ocean in these areas might one day have mere moments to say goodbye to their whole lives. Nature giveth and nature taketh away, and these signs remind you of that constantly.

OK, and in a sicko-funny sorta way, I think the guy running up the hill to higher ground is pretty cool...yeah, I know, I'm gonna burn in hell...

Oregon Coast View

OK, quick poll: what picture is better? The one with the DL, or the one without?

Oregon Coast View II

Which of these views do you like better?

Welcome to Oregon

I reluctantly left the Big Trees of Northern California behind to continue up the coast into Oregon. The coastline of California is fantastic, but I personally think that Oregon's coast is even more dramatic.

One thing I noticed just before the border with Oregon: there are lots of little liquor stores set up right by the border advertising their lower prices. It is weird how those little business opportunities can be created by having differing economic policies from one state to another. You see that sort of thing a lot in the south, for example, where the low cigarette prices are advertised heavily when you enter the really cheap tobacco-producing states (both of the Carolinas, for example).

Ahh, federalism in action...

Redwood National Park

Redwood National Park has lots of great trails running through it. All you have to do is pull over to any of the numerous little turn-offs that indicate a trailhead and head into the forest. Chances are you won't encounter anyone else on the trail. Having a moment alone with these majestic giants (many of them two millennia old or older) is just transcendent.

Redwood National Park

One of my absolute favorite places on Earth is Redwood National Park in Northern California. Riding through the lightly trafficked park is just bliss; the roads are great and the forest is indescribable. There is a certain majesty to these great trees that always leaves me speechless.

This shot gives you a pretty good idea how big these trees are. Multiply this by the thousands and you start to understand why the place is so special.

Into the Woods

After leaving the misty beaches of US 1, I headed inland on 101 into the heart of Redwood Country. That's one of the things I've always liked best about California - you can start your day on a gorgoeus stretch of coastline and end it under a majestic redwood in the mountains.

San Francisco, CA

The weather was generally good while Amy and I were in San Francisco, but the fog rolled in for my departure. Kinda creepy, but cool. I love riding in fog, especially someplace like the Golden Gate Bridge and north into Marin - it makes the road mysterious and magical somehow...

San Francisco, CA

I arrived in San Francisco on Monday, June 20th. Amy (my girlfriend) flew out to San Francisco that day and we spent the next couple of days in the city celebrating my birthday (34! Whoo-hoo!). The DL then went to spend a few days at Golden Gate Cycles to have her 7500 mile service a bit early. Amy and I rented a car (gasp!) and drove up to Point Reyes to do some camping, which was fantastic. If you can deal with hauling all your stuff two miles to the coast from the trailhead, you are rewarded with a very private, secluded camp right off of one of the most gorgeous beaches I've seen in California.

Alas, Amy (the greatest girlfriend in the world, by the way - who else would be so cool with me riding all over creation for two months and even come visit me for my birthday?) had to go back to NYC and I had to get back on the road. As usual, San Francisco was a lot of fun and my visit there was way too short.

Grizzly Peak

I used to live in Berkeley, CA a long time ago. I always marveled at Grizzly Peak Road, a narrow, tight little road that runs up over the hills east of town. A long time ago I decided that it would be amazing to ride on a motorcycle, and on my birthday I finally got to do it. Yee-haw!

You can see the whole East Bay from the lookout point where this shot was taken. On clear days, you can see San Francisco, Treasure Island, and even Marin from up there.

I think the DL looks weirdly naked without all my crap on it. She sure does handle like a different bike when she's running around all naked like that! I had a lot of fun blasting along Grizzly Peak Road and all over San Francisco with her unencumbered.

US 1

Oh, yeah...

US 1

Yeah, this is a terrible place to have to ride a motorcycle...

Once I left Morro Bay (not an easy thing to do - I could easily have wiled away a couple more days reading on the beach), I headed up the coast towards San Francisco. I've always dreamed of riding US 1 on motorcycle, and the picture above should help explain why.

For those of you who haven't driven on it, you owe it to yourself to check it out (on the back of a motorcycle, natch). This is definitely one of my all-time favorite rides. I'll have to come back soon to see what the ride is like heading in the other direction!

No Hitchhikers!

This little guy was really interested in the DL. I'm pretty sure he was looking for a ride - damn hitchhikers!

Sunset at Morro Bay, CA

Sunset at Morro Bay was spectacular. The clouds were mostly gone by then, so we were treated to a great sunset.

Morro Bay, CA

After being forced to spend ANOTHER night in a Days Inn (I'm getting to the point that I can't even remember my room number at these generic hotel/motels anymore. They are clean and the DL seems secure at these places, but they are hardly inspiring), I found a campsite at Morro Bay, CA that just rocks. This is the view at the beach next to my campsite.

Oh, I dunno, I might just have to spend two nights here. For research purposes, of course...

Pacific Coast Highway

On Thursday, I finally "officially" started my Pacific Coast Highway journey. Although I had been in LA for five days, I feel like this is the moment I finally arrived at the Pacific Ocean. I stopped and dipped my piggies in the Pacific (those Diadora riding boots really ARE waterproof!), and baptized both the DL and I with some of the Pacific Ocean.

Next stop: dunno. Somewhere on the coast, preferably a campsite with a beach.

Ride On!

Plants

Here's one of the shots I took at the Getty. Any plant biologists out there want to tell me what I took a picture of?

The Getty

The Getty Museum was one of the only real "touristy"things I did in LA. I had gone once before, which was only a few weeks after they opened it. Almost all the plants you see in the photo above were mere sprouts back then, so it was cool to see how everything had developed. I probably spent more time touring the grounds than looking at the art.

I did go and check out the Rembrandt exhibit, however, and it was pretty good, just jam-packed with shuffling white-haired tourists. There was also a fantastic exhibit of Paul Strand photos, which was worth going to the museum for by itself. Great art can be very inspiring- I started taking pictures of damn near EVERYTHING when I got out of there! A 512 MB memory card can be a dangerous thing, however - I'll let you know if anything good comes out of my recent shutterhappiness.

LA LA Land

After Joshua Tree, I headed west on I-10 into the heart of LA and the truly amazing traffic. I also got to ride through the windiest place on earth, which (I've talked about wind before) was a HUGE joy. As I came south on Route 62 from the north entrance to Joshua Tree through Morongo Valley, I saw the valley below me and a massive cloud of something a mile high hanging over it. Well, that can't be good, I thought to myself, reminded of a huge duststorm I'd hit a few years ago coming out of the Rockies onto the Great Plains east of Denver. Sure enough, as I got further south and closer to the valley floor, I began to see the windmills - hundreds, maybe thousands of the damn things spread across the valley and the surrounding hillsides, spinning away. Well, that ISN'T good, I thought to myself as the wind picked up about eleven notches.

By the time I got to I-10, I was driving on the shoulder at about 50 mph, both feet skimming along the road surface and leaning into the wind as hard as I could. Thankfully, that madness only lasted a few miles, and then I was riding almost head-on into the wind for the rest of the Valley of the Blasting Wind, which was tolerable.

Soon after I'd left the VOTBW, I began to feel like I was "in" LA. Basically from Riverside west, you ARE in an extension of LA, and the strip malls and car dealerships don't change much for more than 50 miles (when eventually the car dealerships are nearly all BMW or Mercedes dealers. I swear there are more German cars in LA than in Berlin).

I finally got off I-10, found my way to my Uncle's house (after a little, uhh, confused meandering around the city getting my bearings), and parked the bike for the better part of a week.

LA was fun, and I got to spend a lot of time with my Uncle Nick, my Aunt Ava, and their kids Sarah and Gabriel. Compared to my normal visits to LA, I was pretty low-key and didn't go out much. I did, however, make my customary visit to the legendary Barney's Beanery for a couple of beers and some mixed karaoke. Even today, Barney's still lacks a lot of the artifice and attitude that are all too prevalent in the rest of LA's bars and clubs, and they make a mean burger as well.

I also did some work on the bike, and think I may have a new set of radiator and oil cooler guards that just need to be mounted when I get up to the Al-Can. There is only company that I know of that makes a guard for the DL 650 (some Australian firm), and they want about $200 for the damn thing. I got mine at Home Depot for $4 and $3 respectively, not including black spraypaint and safety wire. I also jerry-rigged a guard for the oil filter, which was fashioned out of a gutter screen for about $2. Now let's see how all this stuff holds up on the road...

Motorcycles Are Dangerous, Part II

Ugh, it still makes my stomach do little somersaults when I see this picture. Seeing bikes on their sides always does that to me, but it is definitely worse when the bike in question is yours.

I decided to check out Joshua Tree National Park on my way to LA. I've never been as impressed by deserts as by forests and waterfalls and things like that, but it came highly recommended, so I figured I'd take a ride through it.

As I started riding through the park, I began thinking about just how functional the DL might be in the dirt. I had heard stories that the stock Bridgestone Trailwings (and the Metzler Tourance that replaced my punctured stock rear tire, for that matter) were essentially useless in mud or sand, but they seemed fine on the hard dirt and gravel I had ridden on so far (which amounted to less than 5 miles at most, so that doesn't mean much).

I saw a turnoff that looked interesting and the sand didn't look very deep, so I slowed down and turned off to check it out. At first I was fine, but then the hand of God reached down from the heavens and just smacked my ass down.

Ouch.

Luckily, the DL and I both survived without too much damage. Thankfully, I was smart enough to install Givi Engine Guards on the bike, and they saved me a WHOLE lotta damage and heartache. I figure they have now already payed for themselves several times over. I'm also glad I didn't go with hard saddle bags, since I suspect the left one would have been pretty hammered in this "mishap" unless I'd gone for the really expensive (like a thousand bucks) aluminum or steel ones. My long-suffering Chase Harper saddle bags were champs, though, and - filled with dirty laundry - seemed to actually act as a cushion for the rear of the bike. My Givi trunk (which I had already removed from the bike in this picture so I could lift the DL) never detached and kept my laptop and other goodies intact. If only it came with internet virus protection built in...

Oh, and I'm basically ok. My left arm and shoulder are sore from landing on them and my ego is bruised pretty badly, but all in all it could have been much worse.

C'est la tour...

Cruisin' the Southwest

I had been on I-10 for too long through New Mexico and Arizona and decided to head off the "beaten path" for a little while, so I took I-8 towards San Diego west of Tucson, AZ (which was eerily deserted) and then headed north on Route 85. That's still a pretty beaten path, but a little less so than the Interstates.

Off Route 85 there were just thousands of these enormous Saguaro cacti everywhere. I've driven through the desert before but never saw concentrations of them like I did there. They really do make you feel like you're riding through the desert, just in case the HEAT doesn't.

I rolled into Blythe, CA last night at about 7:00 PM (Whoo-hoo! California, baby!) and it said it was 105 degrees on the big digital clock in town. That's pretty damn hot, especially in riding gear. The DL has been a trooper, however, and she's never complained. I, on the other hand, bitch and moan about the heat constantly...

Motorcycles Are Dangerous

On the road to Las Cruces, I was doing something I'd been doing all along on this trip, which was to occasionally just let my legs hang (without using the footpegs) to relieve a little bit of pressure on my legs and back. It had worked really well every time previously, but suddenly my left foot hit something and pain shot up through my leg as my foot snapped back. I kept riding along, doing 85 mph or so while I moved every toe and rotated my foot and leg around to insure that nothing was broken. Since everything seemed to still work ok, I kept riding until I found a rest stop, at which point I pulled off and checked my little piggies for damage. Finding all five little piggies still intact, I put my boot back on and kept riding. However, when I stopped for the day I found that my big piggie was all black and blue and kinda hurt (well, how would YOU feel making contact with pavement at 90 mph?). No more nonchalant leg hanging for me and my piggies anymore...

Today, on the road (I-10, since I wanted to make decent time) through New Mexico into Arizona, the road was great but very, very windy. As any biker will tell you, there is NOTHING worse than a heavy crosswind. I'll happily ride in the rain, but heavy wind makes me very, very unhappy. Anyway, the whole ride from Deming, New Mexico to Tucson, AZ (my current address) was superwindy. More than once, the bike almost got smacked down right from underneath me. It is really unnerving riding on a bike that is essentially being treated like a kitty toy by the four winds, getting smacked from side to side (how does the wind DO that?!? I've never figured out how the wind can blow from two different directions almost simultaneously) like a mouse between two big windy paws. Of course, it doesn't help that speed limits are totally meaningless today throughout most of the country, so truckers have carte blanche to drive as recklessly as they want. When the speed limit is 75 mph and you have to do 90+ just not to get blown around by the trucks trying to pass you, something's wrong. I'm a fan of speeding - love it, do it frequently - but there has to be a limit somewhere. I haven't seen a single vehicle stopped by a State Trooper since Virginia, which is very, very different from years passed, when I would typically see at least one or two people a day (including - GASP! - truckers!) pulled over by troopers.

Today, the trucks drive as fast as they can, and they seem to have no worries about getting pulled over. I now see people getting away with driving in ways that would have been totally unacceptable a few years ago. And I'm not even talking about all the jerks who talk on their cellphones, either, although it would be easy to believe that in some states driver's licenses come with cellphones today. I'm not naming names, but one area of the country could easily be renamed the Cell Phone Belt.

So be careful out there. Motorcycles aren't the only vehicles that are dangerous today. And watch out for your little piggies.

Welcome to New Mexico!

After deciding not to go to OLD Mexico, I decided to head to New Mexico instead. However, Texas is REALLY, REALLY big, so I didn't quite make it there in one day. I probably could have, but since I've got extra time to kill now (since I'm not heading south of what's left of the Rio Grande), why rush?

I spent the night in Fort Stockton, Texas, which is best described as uneventful. The next day, however, I made a break for New Mexico and made it through the nearly unending, hellishly hot land of strip malls called El Paso early in the day. I decided that I'd stop in Las Cruces, New Mexico for the night so I could go see the White Sands National Monument, which is supposed to be really cool ("270 square miles of white gypsum sand, unlike anywhere else in the world" said the tourist info). Once I got to Las Cruces, however, things started to go awry.

First, the ENTIRE town is under construction, from I-10 to the sidestreets to many of the buildings I saw. Because of this, you can't use half of the exits in town, and many of the streets have weird detours and the like. Anyway, I finally found the crappy motel I had a coupon for after much to-do (we motorbloggers have to cut corners somewhere, since we can't cut back on necessities like memory cards and internet access - how else would we keep YOU satisfied?), and they said they had only one room left for the ungodly sum of $99 (what, did Trump buy up everything here, too?). I guess that there was some sort of intercollegiate event going on in town, since all the hotels/motels I stopped at had motorcoaches or schoolbuses parked outside and everyone had jacked up their prices.

Next, in the process of going from one place to another (a process that took nearly as long as it had to GET there), my riding pants just gave in. The combination of my 30" inseam and a 32.3" seat height finally got the best of them, and the resulting seam capitulation made them embarrassing to wear further. I finally got the hint and decided to skeddadle out of town before anything else went wrong. After all my time on the road over the years, I've learned that sometimes you just need to cut your losses and get the hell out of town - so I did, pronto.

I arrived in Deming, New Mexico an hour or so later, and found a motel that had no problem admitting a dirty, smelly biker whose naughty bits were nearly hanging out. It was funny, actually - the woman behind the counter quoted me a price, and I just stared at her. She then quoted a lower price, and I just continued to stare without blinking. She then lowered the price AGAIN, and I just kept staring (I knew the price was still about $10 more than other places in town from their signs). Finally, she dropped her price to about what everyone else was charging and said that was as low as she could go. I checked in after that, but I have to wonder what would have happened if I'd just stood there for another minute without blinking or saying anything... she probably would have had me reported as a psycho biker flasher on the loose in town!

F@%K Mexico

This morning, I went to the Mexican Consulate in Austin to get a vehicle permit so the DL and I could enter Mexico. I figured that made more sense than trying to deal with it at the border at Brownsville tomorrow. For the record, I had tried to contact the Mexican Consulate in NYC several times before leaving NY and had gotten nowhere. Their telephone system would either direct me to dead ends or to voicemail that no one would ever bother to return. When I went to the consulate, they had arbitrarily closed the processing area early.

OK, no worries, I thought, I'll just take care of everything today.

I went to the address listed on their website and was met by a blank office door. Hmm, maybe they're trying to be discreet, with the war on terror and all...

So I knocked. And knocked. It was dead silent in there, and finally I saw someone go into one of the other offices down the hall and asked her if the consulate was indeed at that address. It turned out to be about five blocks away.

Things went downhill from there.

When I found the consulate, it was was easy to find the office that issues vehicle permits (thankfully). I sat down and told the consulate officer that I wanted to take my motorcycle into Mexico and wanted a permit.

"No problem," he said. "I just need a copy of your birth certificate or passport and a copy of your title or registration."

I proferred my passport and my temporary registration (which I was told by three different people at the Mexican Tourism Bureau would be fine for entry into Mexico). He looked at my temporary registration and said "Oh, no, this won't do. What else do you have?"

I explained that this was a new vehicle and that my official registration and title wouldn't arrive for at least another several weeks, and that I had been reassured on numerous occasions that my temporary documentation would be fine.

"No, no - this does not prove that you own this vehicle. We need something that proves you own the vehicle."

I offered up my insurance card and the receipt from the dealer for the bike. Even though it was handwritten and basically meaningless, the receipt seemed to satisfy him.

"OK, now you need to give me a copy of this and also your passport, and then we can give you the permit for your motorcycle. Go next door (pointing down the hall) and make a copy and then come back."

Not wanting to sacrifice one of the copies of my passport I keep on me and having to make a copy of the basically meaningless receipt anyway, I trotted off down the hall and found myself in Purgatory, with dozens of Mexican families milling around with official looking forms and crying babies in hand. I realized I had no change (and certainly wasn't going to spend this life and the next one waiting on the evil looking line to get any), so I left the building and went across the street to a UPS center to make the copies.

Five minutes later, I was back in the vehicle permit office with my copies. I sat down with the officer I had met with earlier and handed him my copies. The officer sitting next to him asked "What about a copy of your registration? You need a copy of that, too."

"Uhh, but..."

"Oh, I told him he needed to bring me a copy of that, too" the first officer said. What? When? You not only DIDN'T tell me to bring you a copy, you acted like I had made it that morning back in the hotel.

"I also told him he need to bring me his Tourist Card with a copy. Do you have your Tourist Card copy, too?"

"Uhh, no - I thought I could just get that at the border." Why the hell didn't you say anything earlier? Whatthefuck...?

"No, no - you need to go around the corner and get your Tourist Card and make a copy and then come back here. And bring a copy of your registration, too."

I explained that (having seen the line earlier) I would need to go back to the hotel and check out first, but that I'd be back shortly. Before I left I asked if this would be it, and if with these documents I'd be ok to travel throughout Mexico with my bike.

The two officers looked at each other and paused, then looked back at me and nodded. "Oh, sure - you'll be fine," the officer I was working with said, sporting one of the most insincere smiles I've seen since Andrew Card.

"Also, I was told that you had to enter and leave Mexico by the same border crossing. Is that still true?"

One of the officers was sure that wasn't true, and the other maintained that it was true only if you left your vehicle deposit ($400 to prevent you from illegally selling your vehicle while in Mexico) in cash. I told them I had been told by numerous Mexican officials previously that it was. They just shrugged.

I checked out of the hotel, had them hold my things (can't just leave my goodies strapped to the bike in downtown Austin for an hour or more, right?), and returned to the Consulate to get my Tourist Card. I looked around Purgatory for the right form, but there were no forms at all in the little form holders along the walls.

I asked a gringo couple waiting on the heinous Purgatory line if they knew where the forms were, and they told me I had to wait on line to get them. After filling them out, I would have the privilege of getting back on the end of the same line to hand them in for my Tourist Card.

Whatthefuck....?

I stood on the line with the infinitely patient gringos for about five minutes and finally said This is bullshit and headed outside to collect my thoughts.

Fuck this, I thought. No one knows what the fuck is going on, and I'll be damned if I'm going to have to explain the whole NY DMV situation to every damn Mexican cop who pulls me over (which apparently would be many, from what all my gringo friends who had driven their own vehicles through Mexico had told me). Is this even worth it?

I got on the phone with my good friend [name withheld pending admission to a law firm post-law school], who had traveled extensively and lived throughout Mexico.

"Dude, fuck Mexico. Why the hell would you want to want to go there instead of spending more time in Canada on this trip? I'd rather spend my time in Banff than Mexico this time of year. Fuck Mexico."

So I did. Instead of going back into Purgatory to beg those Third World bureaucrats to let me come into their country to spend my tourist dollars, I got on my bike, went back to my hotel, packed up my bike, and headed west out of Austin to points unknown.

I guess this is no longer "Ride the Americas," since I've now bailed on everything south of the Rio Grande, but I felt like a huge weight had been lifted as I rode out of Austin. All the unknowns, all the bullshit, all the pointless bureaucracy and meaningless headaches were now behind me. As I got on US 290 heading west, I felt really great. For the first time on this trip, I felt like I could just RIDE.

Fuck Mexico. Now we just RIDE!

Austin, Texas, Part II

I am in Austin, so I had to go check out the legendary Sixth Street music scene. As I navigated the DL down the block looking for a space, I could already hear some MEAN blues coming from a place called Friends. I parked the DL and went inside to hear some of the best blues I have heard in years. The Eric Tessmer Band was playing, and I have to say that they did the best Stevie Ray Vaughn style blues since, well, Stevie Ray Vaughn. Eric Tessmer is truly a gifted guitarist and if I compare him to the legendary Stevie Ray, it is not without warrant - this kid is that good. Lots of guys are great at lightening fast runs, or can squeeze all the heartbreak you can imagine out of a bend, or can summon evil spirits with a slide, but this guy can do it all. If you ever get chance, check this guy out. He's the sort of guitarist that makes you want to go home and stay up all night playing guitar, you know what I mean?

After that, I just drove around the city a little bit before heading "home." It will be quite a while yet before I'll really be heading home, huh? Not that I'm complaining, mind you...

Tomorrow I'm heading south to Brownsville, Texas, where I'm hoping to cross the border into Mexico. I'm still crossing my fingers on that count, since I haven't received my official registration or title yet from the NY DMV, and Mexico requires one or the other to get a vehicle permit. I do have my temporary registration, but I have no idea if that will be enough. Several officials I spoke with at the Mexican Consulate and the Tourism Bureau seemed to think that would be enough to cross the border, but I guess the real question is will it be enough to bring the DL back into the U.S.?

If not, then this is going to be a lap of slightly less of North America than I had hoped. I've already had to drop my plans to head into Central America (just not enough time, especially if I really want to spend a few days or more in Alaska). Oh well - the best laid plans and all that, right?

We'll see. But for now, we ride on!

Austin, Texas

I rolled into Austin, Texas yesterday in the early evening and just crashed. I really wanted to go out and explore the legendary live music scene, but I was just too tired. I think it was riding in the heat - I'm used to doing 400-500 mile days, but not in 90+ degree heat, day after day.

Anyway, tonight I did do a little bit of exploring and I have to say that Austin seems like a really great town. On the recommendation of The Austin Chronicle, I went to a place called The Green Mesquite so I could continue my BBQ adventure. On Mondays and Tuesdays, they have an all you can eat BBQ special for $9.95(!), and this is what they brought me for round one:


What you can't see in this picture is the 1/2 lb. or so of OUTSTANDING brisket underneath the chicken and ribs! See, the special comes with your choice of three meats (brisket, chicken, ham, sausage, turkey, pork ribs, or pork loin), and two sides (pinto beans, green beans, potato salad, cajun rice, cole slaw, fried okra, or corn on the cob). It also comes with bread, pickles, and onions. I did a pretty good job on the above, but I had to also try the sausage, which was FANTASTIC - smoky, spicy, and delicious.

Oh, sweet Lord Jesus. I am SOOO glad all I had to eat earlier in the day was a chocolate milk and some pretzels. My recommendation: if you ever attempt to do this, don't eat anything earlier that day, and don't plan on eating or drinking anything else for the rest of the day, maybe the rest of the week.

This is my last BBQ on the trip. I'm actually (gasp!) a little tired of it. I've had my fill; if you pricked my finger now BBQ sauce would come out. Besides, I'm leaving BBQ land, so I guess it is time to move on. However, sampling the region's finest BBQ has been a pleasure, and I hope I haven't caused too much BBQ envy.

And the verdict? Well, it really isn't fair to compare BBQ from one area to BBQ from another area, but based on the one thing I had in numerous places - pork ribs - well, I'd have to say The Rendezvous in Memphis wins. However, the pulled pork at The Blue Ridge Pig was pretty outstanding, and the brisket at The Green Mesquite was the best I'd ever had. That meal was certainly the best value, that's for sure.

OK, nothing but salads for the next few days...

Ridin' and Campin' the Bayou

After leaving New Orleans, I headed into the heart of the Bayou to finally go camping. I ended up at Sam Houston Jones State Park just outside of Lake Charles, LA. It was absolutely gorgeous, but hotter than hell. No, I mean really - even at night it didn't seem to cool off at all. I'd say that at the coolest point in the evening, it was maybe 140 degrees (at least that's what it felt like). They also had these amazing stealth bugs that you had no idea were eating you alive (I was covered in 100% DEET, which apparently was like BBQ sauce to them), until you noticed the bites and the godawful itch the next day.

One interesting note for all you campers out there: the public bathhouses were actually air-conditioned, if that gives you any idea how hot it gets down there. Most of the bathhouses I've seen didn't even have hot water!

New Orleans

After getting my new rear tire installed, I rode down I-55 to New Orleans. I'd been there once before and knew that I was in for a fun time. I ended up staying about 3 blocks from the French Quarter and about 4 blocks from the notorious Bourbon Street.

I headed to Bourbon Street about 10:00 PM (letting everyone get a bit of a head start on me - hehe) and literally saw my first set of boobs in less than a minute. I didn't even have time to get one of those high-octane frozen concoctions that I always regret drinking the next day!

It seems like Bourbon Street has gotten a bit rowdier over the years. There were people asking women in their 60s to flash, which is a bit disrespectful if you ask me. There were also women showing a lot more than just their boobs (if you catch my drift), which seems to be a new development since the last time I was there.

At one point, I was standing on the street beneath a balcony that was full of people liberally tossing beads, and one guy pointed to a girl on the balcony and remarked "Yeah, that girl is like Old Faithful - she shows her tits every two minutes." I think he was wrong - it was more like every 30 seconds or so. Her parents must be so proud.

All in all, New Orleans was fun if a little skanky (or am I just getting old and more prudish?). I drank waaaay too much and got lots of beads without having to show MY boobs. I rode out of town on Saturday morning with a monster of a hangover, but it was all worth it.

And no, I didn't take my camera with me.

Bugs

Bugs are EVERYWHERE on the road. They can really be a nuisance and do a great job of making a disgusting mess of themselves when they commit suicide against your windshield or faceshield. Last summer on a ride back from Montreal, I actually had to pull over on the highway to scrape a bug off of my faceshield that covered most of it and was SOOO gross I thought I was going to lose my lunch. Having something that nasty two inches from your eyes can be a bit much at times.

This lovely specimen flew up the right hand sleeve of my jacket and died between my riding glove and sleeve over the course of the next hour or so. I saw it fly in and tried to shake it out, but to no avail. If you have a 17" monitor this will likely be almost life-size on your screen; it was about 2 1/2" long.

Needless to say, I'll be keeping my sleeves better closed in the future - I don't want any more stowaways on my wrists on this trip.

Pushing My Bike Outta Clarksdale

After leaving Memphis, I headed south into Mississippi and the town of Clarksdale, the site of the famous crossroads where Robert Johnson supposedly sold his soul to the Devil to gain mastery over the guitar and the blues. I also wanted to check out the Delta Blues Museum located there and see a little Mississippi culture.

Well, the museum is basically one big room with a lot of guitars in it (like a Sam Ash with history), the local culture is that of a very depressed Southern town, and the legendary crossroads has two gas stations.

After sampling Abe's famous BBQ (just off the crossroads, but Abe clearly did not sell his soul to gain mastery over BBQ), I headed south towards New Orleans. About 40 or 50 miles out of Clarksdale (before the heartburn set in), I noticed that the DL was handling sort of funny. The front end seemed less responsive than usual, and when I gave it more gas, it seemed to be particularly sluggish. Oh, shit - I bet I know what it is, I thought, and sure enough, once I'd pulled over I saw that my rear tire was totally flat.

Fuck. OK, well, you know the drill...

I'd prepared for this moment mentally at least twice, so I was marginally prepared to deal with the situation. Also, I had a flat repair kit with me, so I knew that I wasn't necessarily screwed.

Fuck me, this thing is HEAVY with a flat, I said as I pushed the now 12,000 lb. bike to a more secure spot off the road. Alas, the shoulder was only about three feet wide (not nearly wide enough to do tire surgery on safely), so I started pushing the bike towards a small turnoff that led into the cotton fields.

Ughhh - is this thing actually getting HEAVIER?!? I looked longingly at the turnoff, a mere four telephone poles away, and realized that I would be dead long before I got there. Then, in a flash of common sense (yes, it happens occasionally, don't get all excited), I decided to start the bike up, put it in gear and gently let out the clutch while I guided it from the side.

Once I had the bike off the road and on to the turnoff, I found a spot with firm enough dirt to support the bike on the centerstand and broke out my repair kit.

Now, I've often imagined over the five years I've owned this kit how proud I would feel when, stranded in the middle of Bumfuck, West Egypt, I repaired my own tire and rode into the next town to triumphantly order a new tire without having to call for a tow truck.

Alas, last Thursday was not to be that day.

When I found the hole, I honestly had to marvel at the size of the damn thing. I could almost stick my pinky in it. Still, undaunted, I dutifully followed the instructions on the repair kit and inserted the plug into the tire coated with nasty green rubber cement (no, I'm not mangling the English language - by the time I was done, both the plug AND the tire were coated with nasty green rubber cement). I pushed the plug into the hole and it went in WAAAAY too easily, basically right through the tire. Ever the optimist, I started squeezing cement into the hole to fill any gaps (HA!), and when I was satisfied that I had enough of the cement on my hands, I grabbed the carbon dioxide cartridge (like you use in BB guns) and screwed it into the adaptor that attached to the tire to fill it up and get on my way.

Well, it was fun listening to the carbon dioxide whistle through the unpatched hole for about 1.2 seconds, and then I started inventing new expletives. After that, I came to my senses and, humbled, called my insurance company/life support system for a tow. They promised that they would get someone out there in about two hours(!) and I sat down to wait in the ungodly hot Mississippi sun.

Not ten minutes later, a Crown Victoria pulled over to the turnoff on the other side of the road. Awwe, that's sweet - someone wants to help, I thought. I walked across the road to tell them that in about two hours or so I would be just fine, thanks, but it turned out that they also had a flat. A tire company conspiracy, perhaps?

No, it was just Mississippi. It was then that I decided that the Devil's mailing address, if not his permanent residence, is definitely in Mississippi.

The couple with the Crown Victoria were in their seventies or so, and the gentleman driving the car took it upon himself to start changing the tire. I offered to help and was goaded on by his very sweet white-haired wife (He has a HEART problem, you know, she said), but was rebuffed the first 40 or so times I offered. Finally, he relented, so I grabbed my toolkit and his jack and went to work on that tire like a chubby 12 year old boy on a chocolate Easter Bunny.

A few minutes later, a cop pulled over. Oh, shit, now we're screwed I instinctively thought, then realized that cops could actually be USEFUL in situations like this. However, he was really there more for moral support than anything else, and it soon became clear that only a gunshot wound (or worse) was going to force him to get his nice clean khakis dirty. The old gentleman and I finished putting on his spare under the watchful eye of John Q. Law, who really was very nice, if less than helpful. Tire changed and my tow 90 minutes or more away, I went back across the street to my bike to wait.

John Q. Law (his name was actually Lawrence, and he turned out to be a Detective) decided to join me in waiting. Since I've been uncomfortable around cops basically forever, I volunteered that I would be fine and he could go catch the bad guys if he wanted to. No, he said, he really didn't feel like working that day (I quote verbatim), so he'd sit tight and wait with me.

Boy, was I glad I'd hidden the crack and the hand grenades before he showed up.

Anyway, he did turn out to be a very sweet guy, and he even drove to the local Wal Mart to get me a bottle of water. However, it was either that or respond to the call he got on the radio about shots fired (I shit you not), so the choice was pretty clear, but I still appreciated it.

Finally, Allen the Tow Truck Guy showed up. He was an OK guy (even if he did spend the rest of our time together regaling me with stories of the corpses he'd seen as a volunteer fireman) and totally hooked me up in my moment of need. There was a little bit of uncomfortable tension between him and Detective Lawrence, however. Detective Lawrence was black and Allen TTTG was clearly a bit of a "Good Ol' Boy," so it was a little weird, but they were cordial to each other and eventually I was on my way with my baby secured on the back of Allen TTTG's flatbed. An hour or so later, Allen TTTG dropped me off at a (not so) Super 8 Motel off of I-55 and promised to take care of my baby and to pick me up the next morning at 7:00 AM to take me to a dealer who could help me out.

Well, I had no choice but to make the best of it and head over to the Shell station across the highway for some dinner (mmm, prepackaged sandwiches!) and try to get a good night's sleep. I watched the movie "My Girl" (starring a pre-cocaine Macaulay Culkin) and fell asleep dreaming that the Devil was using my bike for batting practice.

I woke up at 6:00 the next morning (damn, some people do this willingly every day?) and got my stuff together to meet Allen TTTG. He was right on time, the Devil clearly had not been molesting the DL since I'd last seen it, and we were on our way. An hour later, the bike and I were sitting in the parking lot of the Madison, MS Suzuki dealer waiting for them to open and to spoon a shiny new tire onto my baby.

The manager was very nice, but immediately informed me that he had no tires in stock that would fit my bike. He and his staff spent the next hour on the phone calling every bike shop in the greater Jackson, MS area and finally located a shop that had a couple that would fit. I drove down to the shop with one of his guys and bought a new Metzeler Tourance for my baby, then drove back and waited for them to put it on so I could get back on the road.

By early afternoon, the new tire was on, I'd gotten a slightly premature oil change, and I was on my way to New Orleans.

I was still convinced that the Devil lived in Mississippi, so I was determined to get the hell out of his yard before he sicced his hounds on me. An hour or so from Louisiana, however, I stopped to get some gas, an unfortunate necessity. As I filled up my tank, I looked over to watch my helmet get PUSHED off of my seat. I lunged forward to grab it, but had to watch helplessly as it tumbled face-shield first onto the pavement.

Arrrghhhhhh!

So, now the face-shield doesn't close quite right (which provides me with a lovely singsong of wind noise above about 10 mph) and it has enough scratches on it to make my entire record collection look positively new.

After that, I got back on my bike and got the hell out of the state. I could swear I heard laughing behind me when I crossed into Louisiana.

So, a big fat thanks to Detective Lawrence and Allen TTTG, as well as all the guys at the Madison, MS Suzuki dealership. I really appreciate all of your help.

However, if I ever recommend setting foot in Mississippi again, please kick my ass until I return to my senses. I've spent enough time providing laughs for the Devil, thank you very much.

Graceland

Here's a picture of me and the DL paying our respects at Graceland. She always gets all choked up at moments like this...

It is kind of hard to see, but every square inch on the wall behind her is COVERED with notes to and about Elvis. That wall extends for about 100 yards along the street in front of the mansion and EVERY square inch is just covered!

Elvis was my first real musical infatuation and I believe that no one has even come close to being the performer and the star that he was. He truly was - and is - The King.

Memphis, TN

I've spent the last two nights in Memphis, TN. If you love blues and BBQ as much as I do, you can't go wrong here.

The picture above was dinner last night at the famous Rendezvous in downtown Memphis. When I asked someone where the best ribs in Memphis were, he directed me to this place. At first, I was a little suspicious (when someone tells you to go down an alley in a strange city, I'd say that's normal), but the BBQ here was just outstanding. I may be ruined for life - I'm not sure anywhere else will ever measure up to this place. Of course, that doesn't mean I'm going to stop looking!

I also went to Sun Studios, which is famous for launching the careers of many of rock & roll's earliest and greatest stars. I got to hang out in the studio where Elvis, Jerry Lee Lewis, Roy Orbison, B.B. King, and even U2 have recorded (not to mention many, many others). It was pretty cool - for a moment I could almost see The King standing there holding the mic and I got goosebumps. Maybe he dropped by for a visit...?

After Sun, I headed over to the Art of the Motorcycle exhibit at the Pyramid. I saw it a few years ago when it was at the Guggenheim, but it was actually cooler to see it here. The place was almost totally empty, so I got to spend three hours hanging out with the greatest motorcycle collection in the world. If you're in or near Memphis in the next couple of months, you have to go see it. They did a really great job curating it and the volunteers staffing it were very friendly and knowledgeable.

Today I'm stopping at Graceland to pay my respects, and then I'm heading south into Mississippi. I plan on camping out, but if I hear any banjo music, I'm gettin' the hell outta there!