Saturday Ride
Posted Sun Jul 13, 2003 in
Motorcycling
I woke Saturday morning, got some coffee, and wrote a blog entry (something about seeing stars or such ;). By then, it was about 0930. I was restless and I’ve been cooped up a lot lately. I just wanted to get outside for a while. I decided that I needed to ride. I had no idea of a destination, but the morning was pretty and it wasn’t too hot yet and I just thought some outside time would be great.
“I think I’m going to go for a ride,” I told Wife.
“You goin’ to make the rounds of the shops this morning?” she asked, referring to my inclination to hobnob with my fellow riders.
“No, I think I’ll just go for a ride. I need to be outside some.”
“Where are you going? Not to Dallas, I hope!” she grinned.
“Why Dallas? I thought maybe Albuquerque.” I rebutted.
“Will you be back by lunch?” she asked.
“I might be, or I might not be. I just want to ride.”
I paddle-walked Bathsheba out of the garage. Wife, Young Son, and In-Laws came out to see her and see me off.
I fired Bathsheba up, maneuvering her around the parked vehicles, scraping the right sidecase on the In-Laws’ van (just a bit, it will rub out), and headed west down 74th Street. I waved over my left shoulder to my family, with no idea when I’d be back (except it would be today). I turned north on Frankford, headed toward Loop 289. I still had no clue where I was going.
At Loop 289 and U.S. 84, I turned northwest toward Shallowater and Littlefield. I broke out of the city and began to relax. The sun was shining, the sky was that west-Texas blue, no clouds, and a light wind blew from the south. I wondered if I should ride north on SH 179, or go on to U.S. 385.
U.S. 385 won the prize.
I pulled off U.S. 84 at Littlefield, then into a Town and Country to refuel and get a drink. Of course, I failed to bring any cash with me! Fortunately, I have a debit card. I refueled and bought a 32oz Gatorade, drank part of it there, and put the remainder in Bathsheba’s topcase. My fuel economy was 45mpg, not too bad for a 1150cc engine! I remounted and rode north through town on U.S. 385. I was reminded of the last time I went to Sipapu, as this is the way I came. On that trip, I rode north on U.S. 385 to Vega, then continued on north all the way to Oklahoma.
Littlefield is a pretty typical small west-Texas town. It is a hub for agricultural production. A few feedlots are nearby and cotton is grown extensively.
I continued my ride north, enjoying the fields and the sky. Many of the fields were either fallow or had been replanted in corn. I guess the rain and hail had killed the cotton. Many of the playa lakes had water in them. In one lake, cows waded in the shallow water. As I approached, I saw several large birds in the water. They were big, black… dang, BUZZARDS!!!! I hate buzzards because they always fly across the road. Sure enough, one of the big ugly birds flew towards the road, and me, it’s bare ugly head looking at me, it’s red goblet clearly visible. Instinctively, I ducked and honked the horn. The bird veered off to the right, but not before I could smell it.
I rode on, happy to have missed an encounter. I pulled into Summerfield and turned east on U.S. 70, headed toward Olton, Halfway and then Plainview. Summerfield isn’t much of a town, just a few people live there. I rode east, still enjoying the outside. It was warming, and I would soon want to lose my jean jacket and ride bare-armed, much as I hate to do that.
I rode through Olton and thought about an ex-student who’s from there. She was what I called my get-it-done-girl, even though that’s not PC. She never minded and was some of the best help I’ve ever had. I miss her. On the east side of Olton there was a nice picnic area with lots of space between the pavilions. I stopped and parked under a large elm tree. I stowed my jacket and drank the rest of the Gatorade I’d stashed in the topcase. It was so pretty and quiet out that I just sat down on the sidewalk in the shade.
I listened to the wind blowing through the trees, the soft susurration lulling me into a peaceful state. Birds called in the trees. I laid back on the sidewalk, with my hands under my head, looking up into the sky. I thought about a lot of the things in my life, all a-jumble and mixed up. I promptly dozed off. I probably slept for twenty minutes or so, on the sidewalk, in a picnic area, under an elm tree. It was marvelous — peaceful, and quiet. I woke gradually, listening to the sounds around me. I laid there, just looking up in the sky again, watching the leaves of the old elm quiver in the wind. I sat up and began to gather my faculties. In a few minutes, I was ready to ride again. I put sunscreen on my arms and drank some water, then rode off.
As I passed through Halfway, I thought about the one time Daughter rode her machine with me. We attended a Christian Motorcyclists Association meeting at the Baptist Church there. Of course, when we pulled into the parking lot, she immediately dumped her bike in the gravel. I looked over my left shoulder, and I still have a distinct picture of her prone on the ground, grinning at me. She was OK, just embarrassed; all of us drop our bikes sometime. Several riders rushed over and we got her picked up and adjusted the shifter as it was bent. The CMA had a neat service, a bar-b-que, and then games. Another rider, who’s name I’ve forgotten, let her ride second seat for some of the games as I didn’t feel like I had sufficient skill to play. He was a neat guy, a welder from Lubbock and a long time CMA member. We spent a lot of time just fellowshipping. Later that afternoon, it looked stormy, so we took the quick way home — the superslab — and the welder and I put Daughter between the two of us. We had a great time that day and it’s one of my favorite memories. I passed the church and rode on toward Plainview, smiling to myself, remembering.
I rode on east on U.S. 70 toward Plainview. It was heating up, but it felt good on my skin and in my body. I felt as though some of the crap in my body was being burned out. There was a physical catharsis occurring and I was enjoying it. My mood improved as I rode. I laughed out loud when I passed the Quarterway Gin. Something about that just struck me as funny.
Somewhere in all of this, I remembered the joy of the ride. I’m Christian, not Buddhist, but I think I understand something of Zen whenever I’m riding. There’s a mental/spiritual place on the bike, on the road, where focus happens; the thoughts flowing together, sometimes stream-of-consciousness, sometimes singleton thoughts and images, sometimes a linear path that is quite logical. The present and the past often mingle when I’m in this place. The joy of the ride returned and it just felt good. I’ve had hints and glimpses of this feeling numerous times while on long rides to meetings, but it has largely eluded me for a long, long time.
I passed through Plainview and thought about the gig we played there one Sunday night just a few weeks ago. But now it was noon and the lunch crowd was out and about. I passed a strip shopping center and saw Leal’s Restaurant there. I thought they had closed because the last time Wife and I looked for it when passing through Plainview, we couldn’t find it. Leal’s was one of our favorite Mexican places in Lubbock, gone now, but still in Plainview and in Clovis, New Mexico.
After I passed the TDCJ unit on the east side of town and the signs that said no stopping or parking, I pulled off at a highway intersection to see if I had a phone signal. I wanted to call home and let Wife know I’d be later than I originally thought. I retrieved my phone from the topcase and called in. As I stood there talking, a rancher stopped and asked, “You got trouble or just taking a break?”
“Just talking on the phone… thanks man!” He nodded, smiled and drove on.
Wife told me that Older Son and Fiance were headed for her family reunion, but didn’t know how to get there. So, I let Wife know where I was and then called them. But, they had figured it out, so I just laughed and rode on.
At Floydada, I headed north on FM 207 toward Silverton. I was trying to remember how to get on the Quanah loop, but should have brought a map with me. Oh well, I was still having a great ride. I started thinking about all the crud that’s been in my head for the last few years. I really want to unload a lot of that. I’m working on it. I stopped briefly at a historical marker for Della Plain, an early settlement of which all that is left is the cemetery. I wondered about what life must have been like here on the high plains a hundred years ago.
FM 145 looked familiar, so I turned east there. A couple miles down the road, a meadowlark jumped up from the left. There was no relative motion between the bird and the background -> collision imminent. Instinctively, I ducked, the bird broke left but too late; it impinged itself on the Bathsheba’s fairing. I’m just glad it wasn’t a turkey!
The road broke over the caprock to the rolling plains. I could see the caprock escarpment stretch way off to the south, probably ten or twenty miles away, shrouded in haze from the water vapor in the air, gray and purple in color. I think it would be fabulous to have a house on the escarpment. I dropped down the incline and was soon at Quitaque, where I stopped at the Allsup’s to refuel and get more Gatorade.
When I pulled the dispenser from the pump, I splashed fuel on my left hand. “Hmm…” I wondered. I started the pump and refueled Bathsheba. When I finished, I noticed that the dispenser leaked fuel into the nozzle even when shut off. That explained the splashed fuel. I went inside the store, got some Gatorade and a Payday bar, paid for the merchandise, and washed my hands. When I logged my fuel usage, I computed a fuel economy of 52mpg. Wow!
I headed south on SH 70, one of my favorite roads, one of the first roads I spent much motorcycle time on. I stopped at the picnic area at Matador, where the historical marker for the Matador ranch is displayed. I drank the rest of my Gatorade and some water, and walked around the bike a few times. I have an image I made of Jezebel and I (I think) at this site several years ago. I stepped over to one of the pavilions to make some water, without much success. But, in the process, I looked down at the ground and saw the traps of several ant hawks. One of them was flipping sand from the point of the cone, probably just improving the trap as no prey was evident. It made me remember when, as I kid, I used to play with them. It was fascinating to use a bit of grass to fake prey, or to find an unsuspecting ant and drop them in the trap to watch the outcome.
It was hot, but I wasn’t uncomfortable. I don’t know what was going on with me, really, but it was good. I turned west at Dickens on U.S. 82 (SH 114), knowing that I had about an hour to get home. It was hammer-down time and I rode hard the rest of the way in.
I made it home by 1600, hot and tired but satisfied after about 300 miles. The ride was cathartic. I rode for the pure joy of riding, something that has been missing from my life for a long time now.
Your killing me, bro!
Thanks for the story, Dave.
— dan 14 July 2003, 16:37 #You need to get out and ride some, my friend. Put the camera in the tankbag, take along a map and some water, and get outside and let God's creation wash over you.
— ruminator 16 July 2003, 00:34 #Nice ride! I can still remember some of the places you mention after being away from Lubbock since 1968.
The picture of the Caprock came immediately to mind. The memory of the ear-popping descent was almost physical.
I've got a ride in the planning stages over some roads I haven't travelled yet. I hope to make the time before school starts again.
And, yes, I understand completely the 'joy of the ride.' Aside from daily transportation, that's the main reason for riding.
— Lonetree 17 July 2003, 14:04 #A wise man said that only dogs understand why motorcyclists love to ride. :)
— ruminator 17 July 2003, 14:27 #