Day 1 - June 27, 2006 Houston, TX to Littlefield, TX
559 miles – Houston, TX to Littlefield, TX
Day started terribly, ended horribly, and had a great middle.
The start? A four hour delay. I purchased a lightweight hiking sleeping bag (and tent, pad, etc.) for this trip. The sleeping bag is supposed to pack down into this small round bag. As I packed last night: the supposedly new bag ripped down the middle; so, instead of hitting the road (disturbing phraseology…more later) at 6:30am, and enjoying a wonderful three to four hour cool morning ride, I had to wait until the REI store opened at 10:00am. I did. Got on the road at 10:05 am.
I love central Texas. The rolling hills, large pecan groves, and scrub oak patches all encompassed in green, fertile grasslands is one of my favorite places on the planet. To experience this one needs to avoid interstates. I picked up Texas highway 36 in Brenham and took it all the way to Abeline. I recommend this ride for anyone wanting to see wonderful country and make good time. Except for slowing down for the sparingly placed towns the road is wide open.
I rode an almost solid 10 hours, not because I had to…because I was loving the ride. I stop every two to three hours (usually to gas up) and that, for some reason refreshes me and I just want to keep going. But I paid a price for it. To quote Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now: “ The Horror…The Horror.” What you ask? I dumped the bike. Right at the end of the damned ride. I shot through Lubbock intending to stay at a motel on the Clovis (NM) side. What the hell? There wasn’t one. The town just sort of ran out on me forcing me onward toward Clovis. (Turn back?…What, are you crazy?).
In any event, I entered Littlefield and spotted this motel just off the highway. To call it a motel is to insult the definition of motel. This place would give a dump a good name. So, I’m looking at it…and looking at it...and looking at it...and decide to take the turn. It’s a right turn onto a street. Don’t think “exit ramp” or anything that sophisticated. I slow practically to a stop while looking over my shoulder, in disbelief, at the motel, wondering "do I really want to stay here." Big mistake. Big mistake! I took my concentration off the task at hand, and hit pea-gravel as my bike made the turn. Still looking back I made the totally instinctive but wrong move of touching the front brake as I felt the bike slip, and before gravel registered in my brain. Result: I dumped the bike. I’ve never dumped it. Never! Oh well, can’t say that anymore.
Fortunately, I was going so slow the bike caught on the engine guard, scoring it a little, catching on a highway peg and listing about 45 degrees. Me? I felt it going down and did what I learned to do when riding enduros twenty-five years ago: I left. I exited, stage right, hitting the ground right hand, right elbow, right side, then rolling quickly over and coming up to a standing position. End result: a small bruise where my left forearm hit the radio mount as I left the bike, a small, I mean teeny scrape on my right elbow, and a very small scrape on my right hip. No torn clothing, but a very damaged ego and a GREAT lesson learned.
A couple of guys came over and helped me right the bike and, thankfully, pointed out a better dump…I mean motel…just down the street. Went there, slept fine, while cursing pea-gravel. It's like riding on ball bearings.
All-in-all, though, a great day. I was riding. Tomorrow, New Mexico and points west.
PS – Just to show my luck is continuing, I just heard on the news there were serious fires on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. My destination? Oh yeah.
Day started terribly, ended horribly, and had a great middle.
The start? A four hour delay. I purchased a lightweight hiking sleeping bag (and tent, pad, etc.) for this trip. The sleeping bag is supposed to pack down into this small round bag. As I packed last night: the supposedly new bag ripped down the middle; so, instead of hitting the road (disturbing phraseology…more later) at 6:30am, and enjoying a wonderful three to four hour cool morning ride, I had to wait until the REI store opened at 10:00am. I did. Got on the road at 10:05 am.
I love central Texas. The rolling hills, large pecan groves, and scrub oak patches all encompassed in green, fertile grasslands is one of my favorite places on the planet. To experience this one needs to avoid interstates. I picked up Texas highway 36 in Brenham and took it all the way to Abeline. I recommend this ride for anyone wanting to see wonderful country and make good time. Except for slowing down for the sparingly placed towns the road is wide open.
I rode an almost solid 10 hours, not because I had to…because I was loving the ride. I stop every two to three hours (usually to gas up) and that, for some reason refreshes me and I just want to keep going. But I paid a price for it. To quote Marlon Brando in Apocalypse Now: “ The Horror…The Horror.” What you ask? I dumped the bike. Right at the end of the damned ride. I shot through Lubbock intending to stay at a motel on the Clovis (NM) side. What the hell? There wasn’t one. The town just sort of ran out on me forcing me onward toward Clovis. (Turn back?…What, are you crazy?).
In any event, I entered Littlefield and spotted this motel just off the highway. To call it a motel is to insult the definition of motel. This place would give a dump a good name. So, I’m looking at it…and looking at it...and looking at it...and decide to take the turn. It’s a right turn onto a street. Don’t think “exit ramp” or anything that sophisticated. I slow practically to a stop while looking over my shoulder, in disbelief, at the motel, wondering "do I really want to stay here." Big mistake. Big mistake! I took my concentration off the task at hand, and hit pea-gravel as my bike made the turn. Still looking back I made the totally instinctive but wrong move of touching the front brake as I felt the bike slip, and before gravel registered in my brain. Result: I dumped the bike. I’ve never dumped it. Never! Oh well, can’t say that anymore.
Fortunately, I was going so slow the bike caught on the engine guard, scoring it a little, catching on a highway peg and listing about 45 degrees. Me? I felt it going down and did what I learned to do when riding enduros twenty-five years ago: I left. I exited, stage right, hitting the ground right hand, right elbow, right side, then rolling quickly over and coming up to a standing position. End result: a small bruise where my left forearm hit the radio mount as I left the bike, a small, I mean teeny scrape on my right elbow, and a very small scrape on my right hip. No torn clothing, but a very damaged ego and a GREAT lesson learned.
A couple of guys came over and helped me right the bike and, thankfully, pointed out a better dump…I mean motel…just down the street. Went there, slept fine, while cursing pea-gravel. It's like riding on ball bearings.
All-in-all, though, a great day. I was riding. Tomorrow, New Mexico and points west.
PS – Just to show my luck is continuing, I just heard on the news there were serious fires on the north rim of the Grand Canyon. My destination? Oh yeah.
posted by Minuend | 9:59 PM
1 Comments:
Hey Brother...
Sorry you dumped the bike...very glad you are okay. Sounds like all in all you really enjoyed the ride (10 hours?!?). Don't know if I would do something I really like for 10 hours. Take care and talk to you soon.
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