OnThe Rode Again

I took a couple of days off to visit friends in Las Cruces. My old riding buddies. It was great to visit and catch up. It was wonderful to sit on the veranda in the evening with a cold beer and talk about life's enduring issues as though I had never left. No strain, just sharing thoughts and the moment.
On my way from Deming to Silver City I stopped to take a picture. Unfortunately, I'm still having trouble posting pictures from my android to my blog. Any help out there? In the meantime, picture desert grassland stretching to the horizon in all directions, mountains looming in the far distance. Realize, in this imaging, you are alone, on a motorcycle in my case, with no traffic to speak of, or break the silence. What's your reaction? Just for fun, I made up the following test to see if you might be a desert rat. Try taking it.
1. Is your first reaction
a. To think, "Omigod, there's no one around. What if something should happen?"
b. "Omigod, how beautiful."
2. Do you see
a. A barren wasteland?
b. A landscape uncluttered?
3. Do you feel
a. A sense of forboding?
b. A sense of peace?
4. Does a sense of loneliness
a. Make you want to hurry on?
b. Settle over you like a gentle mantle?
5. Do you
a. Have an intense craving for a radio and air conditioning?
b. Feel lucky to be on a motorcycle?

If you answer B for the first four questions, you just might be a desert rat.
If you answered B for all five questions,
a. You might just be crazy.
b. You truly are a desert rat.

Tucumcari

Tucumcari felt like a special destination. It should have. It was the setting for my novel. Seeing it again, everything looked the same, and everything seemed different.
I drove around before getting a motel, in order to check out the places that inspired settings for the story. it was exciting. It was like going back to a place you once lived. It was exciting. I almost wanted to say to people, "I'm back." Of course, no one knew I was there when I wrote the story. The only people I told about my story at the time were a ranching couple, from Switzerland, and they lived outside of town.
I did have someone I could say Hi to, Lisa Lauriault, at the chamber of commerce. I stopped in and talked with her for a few minutes, and then picked out a motel.
I decided to stay at the Blue Swallow, a vintage Route 66 motel that has been refurbished by it's new owners, Kevin and Nancy. They've done a great job with it, too. It's one of those motels with the tiny carports built for cars before the sixty's giants came along. Just right for my motorcycle.
The inside was decorated very tastefully, with pictures appropriate to the era and location. There was even a rotary dial telephone.
I did some shopping, picked up a new bandana at Tucumcari Ranch Supply, where the woman who waited on me had heard about my signing on the radio. She snapped a picture of me to put on the company's facebook page. I was feeling quite the celebrity.
The signing went well. I had fun talking with people who came and bought books. I really got a sense of a community of people who are upbeat and enthusiastic about their town.
When I get back to the motel, I met Bob Saar, another writer, was doing a signing at the chamber the next day. He was on tour with his classic 64 Buick, to promote his book, David's Buick. He had chosen the same motel. It was great meeting up with another writer.
Next morning, it was off to Albuquerque and a radio interview with Travis Parkin, and a signing at Taylor Ranch Library, then a few days off to visit friends in Las Cruces, where I used to live.
Tucumcari was fun, a real highlight. Like a lot of Route 66 towns in today's economy, it's struggling, but it has a core of people who are clearly up to the task. It's like the writing industry...struggling to hang on in the face of change, working to adapt to new opportunities and challenges. Tough times, but it can be exciting. What a ride.

Tucumcari-Route 66

Rode across Oklahoma and Texas in triple digit heat. What a ride! Driving along the mother road was a ride back in time. The asphalt ribbon is narrow by today's standards, and undulates in a soothing rhythm. Oak trees lined the sides of the rode in places. Along other sections the route is framed by farms and fields. I found myself slowing down emotionally,mentally, physically. When I drove down Interstate 40, it all changed back to something much more familiar. Kick it up. Make some time. How many miles to the next town?
But that was not the whole experience. Some was a disturbing glimpse into a paralell universe, but not one in a sci fi dimension. Age and decay. I see enough of that every time I look in the mirror. Old and rundown is not pretty. Neither were the depressed portions of the towns I passed. Route 66 was once the future of our country. It was exciting and hopeful. Now hope appears to be about all some of these towns have to live on.
Of course, much of their present hope relies on tourism. Is there any? You bet! Smokey Joe's Cafe in Amarillo was a biker bedlam, or haven, or delightful oasis for the weekend rogues. Biggest surprise to me...the Midpoint Cafe in Adrian served lunch to a group of thirty-one bikers from Norway! Happens a lot. Italy, Spain, Germany. It's truly an international attraction. I ran into a group of a half dozen bikers from Japan.The world is in love with the mother road, and in many cases Harley as well. Any thoughts as to the attraction? I'm glad it's there for wharever reason.

Fourth Day

I'm in Oklahoma. I've been on Route 40, and it's been hot. This will be a short post. It reached 108 degrees according to my little thermometer that I used to wear on a ski jacket. One humdred eight. That's pretty hot when you're on a bike on a strip of asphalt. Arkansas was beautiful, though, and so is Oklamoma. Stopped at the welcome center and talked to the women at the information counter, Nancy and Jennifer. Terrific people. They gave me maps and brochures on Route 66 in Oklahoma. More on that next post. I am taking a day to do some of the old route. Looking forward to it.

The heat actually got to my bike. The fluid for the clutch lever heated up and expanded so that I couldn't disengage the clutch. That created a problem or two handling the traffic at a couple of toll booths and at the off ramp where I was trying to bail out. Ended up right across the stree from a good motel, decent restaurant and good air conditioning.

We'll see how things go tomorrow. It should be a little cooler, although still in the triple digits. As long as the bike doesn't act up, I'll be fine. Oh, Jennifer writes too. Sci Fi. Good for her.

Third day

Heavy cloud cover. Decided to suit up with rain gear before getting on the road. Took more time that way, I wasn't happy about delays. I wasn't in a great mood, to be honest. That happens sometimes.
I got wet. I tried to be smart and sit the first storm out. It didn't amount to much. I thought Lesley would be pleased. I kept my promise. Next storm got me before I could get off the road. Heavy this time. Oh well... At least I still had my rain gear on. I had been looking for a place to take it off. Then I drove around a curve and there it was, waiting for me. More to grumble about.
I enjoy most of the rode, and I'm never bored. Sometimes I get irked, though. Like the BMW that passed me. The driver was reading a map held against the steering wheel. He pulled in ahead of me and drove on, but before he got out of sight he got rid of some trash by lifting his hand up through the sun roof and letting the breeze take away his little bit whatever. Nice car. Clean looking BMW. Irksome Beemer driver though.
Well, I didn't find everything making me grumble. I stopped to gas up and get a cup of tea. I REALLY felt ready for the tea. The guy behind the register commented on how infrequent it is that Americans get tea. I said I love tea. Turned out he comes from the middle east. He told me he was fasting. One of his (apparently many) local customers came in and teased him about what he had been eating. We talked a bit more. I learned he isn't allowed to have ANYTHING during the day. Not even water. He gets up around four in the morning, works until late at night taking care of his place, is cheerful to everyone, and hasn't had a thing to eat all day. Although, I have to say he looked at my tea pretty longingly.
We didn't talk about religion, or politics, or economics, or world problems. We did share some feeling about tea. It was a very pleasant break from my point of view. And the tea was good.

Second Day

I wasn't able to post to my blog the last couple of days due to unavailability of internet access. Can you believe it? I even had trouble getting a little cell-phone signal. Anyway, here is my second day.
The weather was great, the air fresh, and the day filled with promise. That's something I look forward to. The first day out, I usually am still thinking about what I might have forgotten to bring, do before I left home, etc. Second day usually begins with a sense of being on the road.
The weather held. The road was good, and the bike ran sweet. Can't always say that happens, but it's good when it does. When I stopped for lunch...another Wendy's salad day... I noticed a guy talking with one of the staff. I overheard her make the comment, "I never thought it would come to that." But I didn't hear what they were talking about. He seemed downcast. I got my lunch and took a table. He sat nearby with another fellow, and the two of them appeared to be going over a list of contacts the second guy was giving to the first.
By the way, maybe I should tell you, I'm a hardcore people watcher. Make that a snoop. Well, there are stories out there. Besides, I'm still a sociologist at heart. Anyway, I people watch.
When I got up to leave, the two guys came outside too. They were on motorcycles as well, and had parked their's next to mine. We spent a few minutes saying hi and exchanging the small talk people do in such situations. They seemed particularly interested in my camping gear. They were astounded I could get a tent, sleeping bag and air matress rolled into such a small bundle. The one who had been talking about his troubles inside told me he wanted to ride to California some day. He said he had arranged for nine days off one time, but his friends had talked him out of trying to take the ride with such a short amount of time. His eyes got wistful, and his voiced softened when he asked me more about my trip. I dug out a map and we went over alternative routes. Then it was time to get on my way. We wished eachother well and shook hands. Friends.
Friends of the road. Something like that.
I felt pretty good that, for a little while, he had been absorbed with biker stuff, and appeared not to be taken up with his troubles, whatever they were. But isn't that also what writing is all about? For a little whilel, our readers can escape from, indulge in or dream of, something they find appealing apart from the day-to-day. Like people who stop and talk to me when I'm on the rode. It all comes down to sharing the ride.

First Day On The Road

This morning crept out of the rainy darkness with all the signs of a dismal day in the offing. Got up anyway. The paper said it would be sunny. So did the weather forecast on the net. Well, maybe sunny later on. Fifty-fifty shot at sunny later on. Decided to give it a couple of hours before deciding to go or abort for another day. Finally decided to suit up and heade west wtih the belief that I should be able to work my way through the rain and into decent weather. Had to be cautious. I just put new tires on, and they are slippery when new, very slippery when wet. Got on the road just before 11:00 AM.
Turned out to be a good decision. The sky grew lighter the further west I rode, until it was free of clouds altogether by the time I reached New York's western border at Jamestown. Actually the ride was a good one. As I said before, I've hardly been on the bike in quite a while. I was reminded what it feels like when a big truck pushes past and sucks you in toward the side of the truck as you clear the bow wave of wind. I was treated to the wet spray truck tires cast off when they siphon the moisture off a damp road surface and spin it off as they rotate. Soon don't even notice that sort of thing. Makes you wonder if you are compensating at a subconscious level or somthing.
The ride reminded me of my first road trip on a bike. I went from Connecticut to Casanovia, NY to attend a sociology conference. Everything went smoothly until I had to stop for some roadwork and it poured rain. No big problem. I was thrilled that I had almost completed my run.  Throughout the conference, people were impressed that I had ridden there on the motorcycle. They seemed bent on telling me of the horrible accidents they knew of involving a motorcycle. Why do people do that?  They don't tell you of some drowning they heard of when they learn your are going for a swim. Oh well, it's all good.
Put in about 360 miles. Not bad for the first day out, and in consideration of the time I left.
Found a nice motel next to a restaurant with good seafood and Guiness stout. I indulged in a walleye sandwich and fries with malt vinegar. Excellent. Chatted with some other travelers as well. Altogether a good day. Now it's time to give Lesley a call. Love those cellphones.

Countdown Over

Today was my scheduled day of departure, but on a motorcycle trip I always like to keep a little slack in the plan. Weather!  Today looked bad. Tomorrow doesn't look great, but it looks better. Besides, one more day with my family. Why not? I hate the thought of not having Lesley and the cats to spend evenings with whilte listening to the gurgling of the Butternut a few yards away.
I've taken a number of cross-country trips by bike, and people would always ask me when I was leaving. At first I tried to explain, it all depends on the weather. Later, I learned to give a date and explain why the weather kept me from meeting that date, if necessary. Similarly, people used to ask me the route I intended. I'd tell them that it depended. Weather again. Maybe some slack for allowing myself to be whimsical?  I like to think of it as being "open".  A ride can be magical, but you have to be open. I'd sometimes pick my final route, and departure, the day I started out. To me, it was all consistent with being open to the adventure and following my best thoughts when it was time for action. I knew I was heading west. I'd know the general plan before departure. I'd let the rest happen.
Tomorrow I expect to leave, weather being tolerable. I'm heading west through up-state New York, then turning south around Cleveland. I intend to head toward Oklahoma City, and pick up Route 66 in Oklahoma. I won't ride the whole route, but I look forward to getting in a few miles on the Mother Road before I get to New Mexico and Arizona, where I have the most engagements. This has been a very different experience that way. I've had to plan a lot of things out in advance. Schedule signings, presentations and interviews. I keep reminding myself that it's a business trip. My gut keeps telling me it's a ride, and I have to leave room to let things happen. I'm sure they will. Happen.
I know there are advantages to planning everything out. How about you? How do you travel, and why do you do it the way you do? Share your adventures in a comment. Especially any along Route 66, even if you live there. I look forward to hearing from you. Meantime, I'm off to promote Murder on Route 66. Talk to you soon...

One Week Left

Only a few more days, and what feels like a month worth of things to do before I leave on my book tour. Nevertheless, this was Otsego County Fair week, and that could not be ignored. Fairs and I go way back. I grew up with them.  I love them. It opened this past Tuesday with harness racing during the afternoon and fireworks at night. Lesley predicted the winners of every race we watched. Too bad we couldn't have had money on them, but betting is not done here. Of course, we had to go around and check out the animal barns and exhibits, and we both agreed that fair week is not for dieting. It's for fair food! My first choice was a sausage and onion sandwich.  Since the fairgrounds are just down the street, we watched the fireworks from our backyard. They were magnificent. Made a couple more trips to the fair during the week after that. I think county fairs are such great reminders, or celebrations, of farming community life. I even love the smells, and miss the sounds of the animals when they are taken home. Now, I'm back to trying to finish up my projects and get packed for my road trip. How about you? Are you a fair-goer? Did you grow up with them, or discover fairs in adult life? I know not everyone is enthusiastic about fairs, but many of us are. What is your take?