Bikes, Blues and BBQ ... or something like that

"It's not the destination but the ride", the story goes.  Gary, my brother-in-law and I had planned on riding up to Fayetteville, Arkansas last year for the Bikes, Blues and BBQ festival/motorcycle rally but something came up at the last minute that made us back off.

This year, I scheduled a week of vacation for the trip.  No, I'm not all that wound up over BBQ and I've been to a couple of motorcycle rallies which turned out to be pretty boring after you've seen one. As for blues, it's kind of like Cajun or Bluegrass music; after a few renditions of it, you've had enough.  However, it's like my opening line says, it's not where you go, it's how you get there.

Monday, we fired up at the crack of dawn in the general direction of Mena, Arkansas.  Filling up our rides in Krotz Springs, LA, we found our tanks getting very low a couple of hundred miles north and in northern Shreveport.  Pulling over to an Exxon station just north of Cross Lake, we were disappointed to not be able to pump 93 octane gas.  The large tanker truck was there replenishing their supply so they had cut off all pump activity.  Probably a good thing because who knows what trash gets stirred up when the low supply gets refilled.

Anyway, we reasoned that we should move on up the road to another station.  Surely there would be another station...surely, there would be another station...just over the next hill.  As the miles rolled up on the odometers, our gas gauge lights began to flicker.  An executive decision was made to turn around and go back toward Shreveport to find fuel.

As we rolled back south, my bike began to occasionally sputter (I knew the end was near) but kept on the course.  Gary's bike was low too.  Eventually, Boudreaux II wouldn't fire another piston so I found myself pulling to the roadside and putting the kickstand down.  Gary kept on plugging.  After all, why stop if he had gas.  I took off the helmet, walked down to a shady spot by a fence, checked the time on my cell phone and tried to calculate how long it would take him to get the few miles back or run out of gas himself.  After 10, minutes I called.

"Where are you?", I asked,.

"I'm at the Conoco station, gassing up.  I'll bring you some back."  How nice.

Anyway, in about 10 minutes, Gary rolls up with a used plastic jug that once held orange juice in it with a total of 7/10ths of a gallon of gas.  A welcome site.  Enough to get me back down to the station for a fill up.

We were both running relative new bikes and the gas mileage is good but I have to say, if it hadn't been for Gary's bike getting at least one more mile per gallon than mine, we'd either be hitching a ride into town or waiting forever for roadside service on highway 71.

We arrive in Mena, Arkansas later that afternoon, chose a campground and pitched our tents on some pretty rocky ground.  Rocky or not, I was ready for that sleeping bag and grateful it did not rain on us.

The next day, we rode on into Fayetteville and met up with an old friend who had retired from the company 2 or 3 years ago.  Since his retirement, Tom had bought a couple of bikes for himself and had taken a 2 month odyssey from his home in southern Missouri to San Diego and up the coast into Oregon.

Tom gave us the grand tour or the area and we followed him up to a campground near his home in Shell Knob, MO.  After setting up camp, we rode down to one of the local roadhouses and swapped motorcycle war stories before going back to sleep on yet, another pile of rocks.

 At this point, a Motel 6 would have looked like a Waldorf-Astoria.

Wednesday morning, we struck the tents, packed up and rode over to meet Tom and his gracious wife Joann, for breakfast.  It was good to talk and renew acquaintances before taking a ride south through Eureka Springs and on into Fayetteville where the motorcycle rally was in full swing.

We cruised the booths and a few displays before taking a few more rides through all the hoopla of the festival and riding back up to the...ahhhhh.....Marriott.  Man, those beds were comfortable.  We even found a barbeque joint near the hotel.

I'm wondering if the amount of custom trikes on display there in Fayetteville has a message regarding the age of many of the bikers there.

During the night, we began to watch the weather channel and saw a disturbing front beginning to roll in from the west.  A new executive decision the next morning found us all re-packing and checking out of the hotel. Our original plans were to stay in the area another day and night but our calculations said that if we did, we'd be riding at least 650 miles in the rain for the next two days.  While I'm not afraid of a little water, 650 miles and 2 days of it ain't my kind of adventure so we turned our wheels due south and went for it.

I just so happened (likely story), my sainted mother just happened to live a day's ride south of there, so before sundown, Gary and I arrived to partake  of the hospitality of Mrs Ida Belle.  It never gets old seeing her face.

After a good night's rest and a nice sausage and biscuit breakfast, we once again rode hard, escaping foul weather.  Except for a brief 30 minute ride through a northern Louisiana rain shower, it was an easy going 250 mile home putting us in the garage by early afternoon, five days, 1,500 miles and a couple of tender rear ends but entirely worth the effort.

Blessed Is A Man

...who can ride his Harley to church.

Some trust in chariots and some in horses, but we will boast in the Name of the Lord, our God. - Psalm 20:7

Meet Boudreaux II

The old 2005 Harley Softail was Boudreaux and I thought about just keeping the same name like B B King named every guitar Lucille but a motorcycle eventually develops it's own personality.  Eventually, it may get a new name, but for right now, it's still Boudreaux.  It's basically the same as Old Boudreaux but with a 103 cubic inch engine instead of the 88 ci and a six speed transmission instead of the five.

Old Boudreaux was getting to be a high mileage bike and made me nervous about any long distant run over a few hundred miles. 

A 2012 model with only 2,844 actual miles on it, it's  not even broken in yet.  I'm not too sure about the white sidewalls either.  Oh well, we shall see.

Home again

Doing a fast exit from Waverly, Tennessee, I am home without and temporarily out of an assignment for which grateful.

This gives me a little time to catch up on a few things, so with the help from Gary, my brother-in-law, we put the boat port/garage in good order, hung a couple of shelves and sorted things out so we could at least walk through it without stumbling over a box or crate of motorcycle parts left over from the move back in August.

The best part was installing a pair of external oil coolers on Boudreaux.  Hopefully, this will keep it from completely melting down in the event of a really warm ride this summer.

Those things accomplished, I had a little time to do some much needed chrome polishing. 

It probably won't be long before I'll be exchanging the Harley for a Boeing so I'll probably be on it as much as possible for the next few days.

The Honda Guy

Since I've been in Waverly, Tennessee, most days have been rather disagreeable. My feet feel like they haven't thawed since I was home a couple weeks ago.  It's either been raining and cold or snowing and cold, except for the 2 or 3 days this past weekend that was in the 60s and rained in biblical proportions.

Today, as I broke for lunch at McDonalds, they had spread salt on the sidewalk to prevent slipping.  In the parking spot next to the door was a Honda motorcycle which I had seen in that same spot countless number of times.  Thinking to myself, this guy is tough if he's riding in 20 degree weather with ice, snow and rain.  You have to admire him.

Going inside, I made my order at the counter to the young lady and put up with the usual questions.

"Welcome to McDonalds, Sir! How can I help you?"

"I'd like a Grilled Chicken Caesar salad and a medium iced tea."

"And what kind of dressing would you like on that, sir?"

"Uh......................Caesar?"

Paying her the $7.01 for the salad and drink, I looked around.  There he was.  The lone Honda rider sitting at a table hammering away on his laptop with his helmet on one chair and a thick jacket draped over another.

Retrieving my salad and drink from the counter, I maneuvered myself to another table in sight of Mr. Honda Man.

I noticed 3 or 4 other patrons who had walked in, some wearing Harley-Davidson caps and shirts, none of which were on motorcycles but proudly displayed their affection for  Harley-Davidsons while unapologetically riding in their warm pick-up trucks with Harley stickers on the back glass.

Now, we have the one lone Honda guy, riding to Mickey D's in the cold and wet with Harley guys riding in trucks and cars.  What do you think that tells you about Harley riders?

It tells me they are not dumb enough to be riding in 28° weather on slick roads and smart enough to stay warm when possible. That's what it tells me.

OK, the party's over

Over the past week, I've strained out a few days of vacation and really enjoyed myself.  It included a day at my grandson's school Grandparents Day, a motorcycle trip up to get my mother for Thanksgiving (she didn't ride the bike), a very nice Thanksgiving at my son's house and to top it off, a Sunday ride supposedly sponsored by the Harley dealership.  Well, it was on the website calendar.

My brother-in-law, Gary and I fired up Sunday morning and left the garage early in 32° temps.  Well bundled, we arrived at the and found another half-dozen bikes/bikers who had planned on doing the same thing.  However, there was no representative from Harley there so we discussed amongst ourselves what would be a proper ride.  Gary and I are not veterans of sponsored rides so we didn't interject much except to voice the opinion that we wanted to stay off the interstates as much as possible.  That was fairly unanimous.

There was this really vocal rider who was riding a pretty slick looking Road Glide and boasted that he had spent over a hundred grand at the dealership this year.  I understand a 110 cu Harley engine is a special and they cost out the yang to have one made, but heck, it didn't even have pontoons and a propeller.

Since he talked a lot and had a lot of gadgets, we decided to make him our leader.  A man spending 100 big ones on a motorcycle should have something to show for it.

We made a tour around Port Vincent, through French Settlement and across the Sunshine Bridge at Donaldsonville headed to Pierre Part.  Somehow, Dear Leader took the wrong turn and we found ourselves meandering the back streets of Napoleonville, touring a bunch of cane fields and eventually coming to a dead end at Lake Verrett at the Attakapas boat launch.

While it was fun laughing while Dear Leader whipped out his Magellan GPS trying to locate Pierre Part, it really wasn't that bad.  I knew where it was but I wasn't the leader and it wasn't in my job description.  After all, it wasn't about the destination, it was about the ride and it was good ....... plus, we got to see a lot of wildlife.

Abandoning our quest for Pierre Part, we made our way back over the Sunshine Bridge and located a restroom at a gas station.

After a few minutes a chatting, we shook hands, fired up and split in different directions.

My party is over and it's time to call in to the office to see what the friendly skies has in store for me.

Florida

Gary, my brother-in-law just bought a new (to him) Harley Street Bob and according to research, got more than a fair deal on it.  "JimBob" is not very experienced, mileage wise, so we thought an initiation run to Florida would be appropriate.

Early Wednesday, we headed east with intentions of meeting up with my wife, sister-in-law, grand kids and nieces and nephews in Destin for a brief visit.  We thought it would an amazing trip to cruise down the beach roads, wind in our beards, sun on our faces and feel the spirit of the open road.  All that seems nice until you run into summer beach traffic and feel the heat as you stop at every other traffic signal from Waveland, Mississippi to Destin, Florida riding along US Highway 98 even through Gulf Shores, Alabama.

After a few hours of stopping and starting we agreed we should have only ridden a portion of the beach road and taken I-10 a part of the way.  Oh well, we will just have to chalk that one up to experience.

Destin was really nice but there were lots of people and traffic.  Heck, we even saw a beach wedding.  We had no clue as to who they were.

The next morning, we arose early and hit the road toward St Joseph Peninsula State Park, near St Joe, Florida.  We probably chose that location because it looked interesting on the map but I can honestly say, were it not for the ocean, it would not come close to competing with the State Parks of Louisiana.  Nevertheless, we pitched our tents for the afternoon and a night under the stars.

As you can imagine, the peninsula was the home of a lot of wildlife, including noisy Crackles (a type of blackbird), coons, pigmy rattlers, salamanders and mice.  Mice were everywhere.  I was told that the Oldfield Beach Mouse is on the endangered list and is protected by the government so we dare not lay a malicious hand on one.  I say one man's beach mouse is another man's baby rat.  Rats!...but they nor the snakes didn't bother us.  Perhaps they afford Harley riders, professional courtesy.

One redeeming thing was amazing sunsets for which many campers came out to witness.

Young and old, they brought their boards and chairs.  That was great and worth the mosquitoes!

Hearing news of nasty weather brewing in the gulf, Gary and I struck our tents early Friday morning and came home in one day.

The trip was a thousand miles.

A Cold Winter's Ride

Any excuse is good enough, I suppose. Christmas morning, I left Dutchtown at 5 AM on Boudreaux, headed 250 miles north to my mother's house. It was relatively cold but I had ridden in 38° weather before because it usually became a little warmer as the sun rose. This time, it was a tad different because the further north I got, the colder it became.
Cruising through Mangum, LA, I blinked when the LED sign at a bank announced 34°. I have to say though, it really wasn't that uncomfortable especially if your gear includes a t-shirt, two light sweaters, a hooded sweat suit jacket, thick leather motorcycle jacket, jeans, thick Doc Marten boots, regular socks, thermal socks, goggles, leather chaps, a neck warmer, stocking cap, cold weather ski gloves, cotton liner gloves and a lined helmet. In other words, I looked like the Michelin Man and felt like a sumo wrestler. Maneuverability could have been an issue if I had to make some quick moves. Even with the cold weather gear, the toes and fingers do get a little cold traveling at 65-75 mph for a couple of hours at a time.

The irony in all of this is 6 weeks and 3 thousand miles ago, I was riding 50° warmer. (Maui)

Why do that, you may ask. Well, ...hmm...I guess I just love riding that thing and will use the most flimsy excuse in the world just to get on it and ride.

Magnum P.I. I'm not

Feeling like Magnum P.I......not really...but hey, it's a theme. We've been here on Maui for a couple of weeks already, in the home of friends who are off gallivanting somewhere in Indonesia. When they left, they tossed us the keys to the truck, house and gave us the run of everything. So in a sense, I feel like Tom Selleck's Magnum P.I. from the television series 25 years ago, only this time instead of a really handsome hunk, you get me. Actually, I have more in common with the likes of Higgins than Magnum but we're digressing here.

Instead of an exotic sports car, Rachel handed over the keys to her Yamaha V Star. So after several days of diving, I took her motorcycle for a partial tour of Maui. I'm sure all the motorcycle gurus would absolutely freak out that I wore no helmet, gloves, leather jacket or steel toed boots but instead, sneakers, baseball cap and T shirt. A couple of the pictures were taken while on the move. Honest, officer. I wasn't texting.

It's been several years since I've owned a smaller motorcycle but the 650 cc engine did just fine with me. It took a little while to get used to not having that low end torque my Harley has and the Yamaha's ever so quite mufflers felt a little strange but it truly was a fun ride.

I'm a bit lazy, so all these pictures were taken with my Instinct cell phone camera and were uploaded to Photobucket as I rode around. Here are a few pictures on the south side of the island so they are not the quality I might have from my digital SLR.

Panoramic Upcountry view looking west toward Lanai.

The rest are on the road to Makena Landing and La Perouse Bay.

Okay, I realize I haven't added any pictures of Darlene, fish, bikinis or various serpents, but the soul intent of this post was for my third passion....motorcycles. SCUBA and photography being the other two.

After my ride, I came home and waited for Darlene to return from her favorite beach. When she arrived, she jumped on the back and we rode double down the beach road and around town for a spell. Ah, to be 21 again.
Out near Ahihi Preserve.

OK, that's about it for the motorcycle stuff. I'll post some diving and fish stuff in a later post.
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C R Albritton