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Well, you've waited long enough for the rest of the story so I'll be posting the final chapters the next couple of days. I apologize for the delay but my wife was diagnosed with lung cancer shortly after joining the site.


OK Third installment:

Around noon of the fourth day, I was riding west on route 380 just east of Throckmorton, Texas. My hands were a little buzzy and the derriere quite sore, so it seemed like a good time for a breather. Rounding a bend I see a nice shady little spot by the entrance for a residential community.

While rolling to a stop I notice a couple of utility workers and their truck near an electric pole, watching me. Being an electrician I was curious what they were doing so my attention was diverted. I shut off the bike and began to swing my right foot over when my peripheral vision noticed movement to my right.

I swung my head around to get a better look and saw two dogs hell bent on taking a chunk out of my butt. Being an avid cyclist all my life old instincts kicked in and I attempted to keep the bike between us. It didn't take long to realize this wasn't going to work with two dogs; one was trying to outflank me.

So I started the bike and (what happened after this is a little blurry) apparently released the clutch before getting on. The rear tire started spinning and throwing a rooster tail of grass, dirt, and gravel. I'm holding the bars with the bike leaning slightly to the left so it begins running around in circles with me chasing.

When the bike pulled around it caused me to twist the throttle even more and began spinning faster. So I'm running these tight little circles while it's spinning wildly round and round and I can't let go, because if I do the bike will be damaged. I can't pull in the clutch either or I'll have to loosen my grip. Apparently all this commotion was keeping the dogs at bay; I was too busy to notice.


I'm not quite sure how but I manage to throw my right leg over the seat and get on. The bike is twisting side to side; my legs are dangling and still sort of running as I pull back onto the roadway. As I hit the pavement I notice the utility workers were running over to try and help, I guess with the dogs. I manage to get the bike stabilized and tear off waving thanks for the thought __________________

OK, Installment 4:

First I must digress, stopped in a little diner on my way through Texas and saw a very peculiar sign on the front counter. It went like this "No Illegal Firearms Allowed", if any Texans reading this, is this a common sight there? Is there a big problem with people in restaurants with illegal firearms, and if so, next time I'm there should I be packin myself? Just askin.

It's approaching evening of the 5th day as I'm nearing the Arizona/California border and mountains are looming ahead. Now I'm a Florida boy and we don't see too many of these back there and what I've ridden through so far would be mere hills in comparison.

I guess it was about 30 miles west of Flagstaff on I-40 when starting my first ascent. It's early in April and in the 90's in Florida but as the altitude starts to climb and I near the summit the temperature starts to plummet. You previous readers will remember I came very well prepared (HA). I did have my suede jacket, 2 pairs of gloves (fingerless and a pair with little holes for venting all over), and hiking boots. This first mountain (I think it was the Juniper mnts) was maybe 5000-6000', boy was I in for a rude awakening.

I finally crest the summit and through chattering teeth and numb fingers sigh with relief, only to see more ahead, egad. I climb Cross mnt., then Snow mnt., I think I'm going to die. I can't feel my fingers or toes at all anymore. Oh wait that's not quite true, I can feel that "your on fire" feeling you get from freezing thing. I'm actually starting to consider pissing my pants just for warmth, but I know it won't last and it will just freeze into a yellow patch of ice anyways.

Little did I know but the worst was still to come. Nearing Kingman looms a really large mountain chain, Hualapai mnts, and 9,500’ at the crest. About 7,000' I start seeing snow, now I spent my early childhood in northern Mass. so I've seen snow, but it's been 36 yrs... I start to realize cars are beginning to fly by so checking the speedo I'm now only doing 68 mph. So I twist the throttle and nothing happens, oh no what's wrong with the bike. This is not the time or the place for a break down. Climbing higher and higher I'm going slower and slower.

You have to picture this, freezing so bad I've got the chills and I'm shaking violently, bleary eyes from the ice cold wind coming through my goggles (that's right, skid lid only), frozen snot in my mustache, teeth chattering so hard I break off a cap (front tooth), I mean I'm wishing a truck would just end it for me right now. But like the stubborn fool I was born to be I continue on.

I'm not quite sure how I survived through this but I finally make it to Needles right on the border. I stay there for the night and in the morning still can't feel my fingers or toes. It was three weeks before the feeling started to return, guess I suffered a mild case of frostbite. Oh one more thing, the bike's power returned when I reached thicker air, never experienced this before. If my brain hadn't been so frozen I probably would have figured this out earlier.

Installment #5
Wow, it's been a while, hope I can remember the details. Just kidding, "no you’re not", am too, "no you’re not"; Ok I'm not, "so make some stuff up".

Ok, so I'm now in Cali. And the weather is much nicer and I'm hoping to make the rest of the trip in one day, Ha. Heading west I'm hoping to make it to Barstow before my next stop; this will bring me through the lower half of the Mojave Desert. It's funny how one day you think you’re going to freeze to death and the next keel over from heat exhaustion.

But the view was awesome, we have cacti in Florida but not those air traffic controller types. You know, with their arms outstretched like their waving in a 747. Then I see prairie dogs popping their little heads up and down trying to get a look at me, even they like my bike, LOL.

I'm a big Bugs Bunny fan and so also the Road Runner, (for you younger riders they had the Bugs Bunny/Road Runner show on every Saturday morning when I was a kid) but had never seen one before. Up ahead I see a bird race across the road; I'm thinking "Was that what I think it was?" sure enough it was a Road Runner. I decide to make a stop on the side of the road and stretch hoping to get a closer look. I did, but it was a lot smaller than I always pictured them, but still very fast. He/she/ it came running back across the road with a snake; guess they eat those, who knew?


Time to go so I head off back on my way. I make it to Barstow uneventful and fill up with gas and have a bite to eat, no southern hospitality here. I decide to give my brother in law a call to let them know I'm getting close and we decide to meet up in Bakersfield so we can ride the rest of the way together. Richard (bro in law) informs me he wants to spend the night there and continue in the morning (he's an old fart).

I leave Barstow and ride on west to interstate 5, this will take me north on into Bakersfield. The trip up is uneventful and we meet up as planned. We stop at a little place called the Scotsman Inn, if you ever travel through there give it a try, the food is great. Remember the ham steak breakfast I had in Louisiana? Well the Scotsman put it to shame (I like eating breakfast on the road as its usually good and cheap, like me). I could not for the first time in my life eat all the food I ordered, and if memory serves me right I think it was $3.99 or maybe $4.99. We spent the night and planned to make the trip to his house in the mountains the next day.

We left the following morning taking road 65 into Visalia and then east on 198 into Lemon Cove. Here we turned right onto a one lane road called Dry Creek and started up into the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Wow, it was spring so all the flowers were in bloom and the mountainsides were spectacular, the road was not (hard tail remember). You will like this next part John. Richard owns a Harley Davidson Electraglide and it soaks up the bumps like butter and has to keep slowing to wait for me. Remember, novice rider, hard tail, and unfamiliar road so I'm being very cautious.


Richard decides to show off, so on the downward slopes rides no handed with his arms extended out to the sides weaving side to side, what an idiot. LOL We climb for about 45 minutes and reach a fork in the road where it joins 245, there's a little restaurant/bar there called the Mountain House Saloon. Apparently this is known to the riders in the surrounding area and tourists alike because the parking lot, what there was of one, is full of bikes. We decide not to stop as I haven't had a change of clothes in almost a week and want to relax a little before seeing the sites.

We continue on our way about 12 more miles and pass another little place, the Pinehurst Lodge (read bar/restaurant) and this too has bikes all around. Richard's place is only another mile up the road and I finally arrive at my destination.

I apologize if this leg of the trip didn't include snapping dogs, tornadoes, and frostbite but it can't all be an epic ride. The 23hr marathon stint was on the return trip which will be revealed in upcoming episodes.

Martin

Here are some pics of the roads Richard and I traveled on our way to his house. These pics were taken after the family and I moved to the area.

This is the beginning to Dry Creek RD.



This is a riding buddy, Dave checking out dry creek. Not so dry this time of year as you can see.



This is typical of the roads at higher elevation.



Some of the scenery along the way.



Obligatory pic of the bikes.



A small lake at 6500' near an old cemetary we wanted to see but the gate was locked.



A favorite watering hole of the riders in the area, us included.



Our view from the back deck while enjoying our lunch.

Ok, installment 6

Spent 3 weeks in California with my wife’s sister and her husband while getting our house ready. The driveway for the new house was a total wreck. The people living there previously broke the rear leaf spring on their 4X4 traversing it. I knew my wife would never attempt it so I worked eight hrs a day most of the time there trying to get it somewhat level.

The drive is close to 300' long with about a 20 degree incline and mostly rock. Apparently somewhere along the way it was oiled and this mixed with the dirt making the whole job a lot more difficult. Remember I had broken my back only a few months earlier so this was a real treat. I was using a forest fighters tool called a McLeod to chop and scrape the dirt (dirt, right, let’s be real, rock) and ended up lowering most of the drive 2" and spreading it around.

I had already purchased a non-refundable airline ticket to return home and pack up for the move. The plan was for me to leave the bike, fly back and drive a u-haul out with the family. This didn't happen as planned. About 10 days before my scheduled flight, I apparently wore out my welcome in my sister in-law’s eyes (who me?). Against my brother in-law's wishes I decided it was time for me to leave immediately.

I gathered my stuff (took about 10 minutes); hopped on the bike and off I went. After my trials on the way out this was not something I was looking forward to. I decided to use a more southerly route to avoid the cold high mountain passes I almost froze using the last time. This meant going much closer to L.A. than I would like but it couldn't be avoided.

I was making really good time (going downhill I guess) so I got pretty far the first day. I stopped for gas near the Arizona border and was speaking to a long haul trucker about my route. This was when I learned interstate 10 was still closed in Louisiana from hurricane Katrina. Well, so much for well laid plans. Now I had to head northeast and retrace my westerly route back home.

Will continue with installment 7 soon.

Installment 7:

Alright, it's been 5yrs since this epic ride and the story has been coming in dribbles and drabs. It's about time for me to finish what I started. The exact times of my stops may be a little off, I suffer from CRS.

Sorry to say but most of the return ride was uneventful except for the last leg of the journey. I did get quite a bad sunburn, especially on my head riding sans helmet though.

O.K., I'm on what I at the time believe to be the end of the next to the last leg of the return ride. It's about 8:00 PM, I'm in north Fl., so I decide to fill the tank and find a nice hotel for the night. I pull into a Shell station, slide off the bike real cool like so anyone that might be watching will be impressed. I know their watching because my bike is just so cool.

Get out the bank card (Shell card is maxed out), slide it into the pump and I see "Please see attendant". What the "fudge"???? I try it again, same thing. Oh no, I know I have money in the account, what now?

I call Nanette on the cell phone and tell her what's happening. She confirms by checking on-line there's plenty of money in the account. She then informs me that the bank did leave a message to call, something about weird activity on the card. She thought nothing of it and never called. I'm screwed!!!!! Of course the weird activity was my usage of the card as I crossed the country. I informed the bank when I left to go west but with my hasty departure (Wore out my welcome remember?) I neglected to for the return journey.

Of course Murphy's Law is in full force, it's Sunday, at night, no way to straighten this mess out until the next day. I'm also completely out of cash, well nearly. I have just enough for one tank full leaving me with $3.27 left in my pocket afterward.

Nanette feels bad and suggests she drive to the local Circle K and use their Western Union kiosk to wire me money through a hotel ahead, I'm saved. She looks for a likely candidate on the Internet and we make plans for me to stop at the designated hotel.

Upon reaching the hotel I call Nanette on my cell and she has bad news, the Kiosk seems to be on the fritz. There are three Circle Ks in our area so she offers to drive to another. It's after 11:00 PM, I've been on the bike more than 15hrs, but what else can I do but keep going.

We arrange for me to call her in an hr. as I'll be needing gas soon anyway. I pull into another Shell station to put in the last of my cash and give her a call. More bad news, this kiosk isn't working either. Nanette heads off to the last Circle K hoping this time the wire transfer will work; I put my whopping $3.27 in the tank and ride off.

About 30 miles down the road I see a Western Union office that's open all night. I call Nanette to let her know I'll be waiting here to make the transfer easier. I go inside and inform the tellers of my plight and wait. It takes Nanette about an hr to reach the last kiosk but again no go. It's now after 1:30, I've been on this infernal machine for what seems a lifetime, and I really don't have a clue what to do.

I tell Nanette I'm going to ride until I'm out of gas and sit by the roadside until morning. I return to the bike and decide to give one more look for any loose change I might have. I haven't mentioned this earlier in the tale but I actually did have somewhat of a bag, carrier, whatever you might call it. I bungeed a small soft sided lunch box onto the rear fender to keep a map, tooth brush, phone charger, fingerless gloves, and a few other things in. I tear into this thing like a man possessed. I find a quarter and become ecstatic, then realize it's actually a washer that had fallen off on my trip west.

Undeterred I continue to pull out everything in the bag. As I'm in the middle of ripping through the bag I see something flutter to the ground. What could this be I think? I look down; it's half of a ten dollar bill. Aha, it now dawns on me that on the first day of my journey west I received a ten as change but tore it in half as I folded it to put in my pocket. I kept it in my pocket for the next couple of days but worried I would lose half and the other half would be useless. Now if I could only find the other half.

I continue my search and low and behold I find it, salvation is at hand. I go inside the Western Union office to see if they have any scotch tape, as I approach the teller with my request she starts to offer me money for gas. I tell her I found ten dollars and calculated it would be just enough to get me home. She doesn't have any tape but trades me an untorn bill in exchange. It's now after 2:00 AM, there's a gas station next door so I fill up and head south.

I pick up route 60 about 4:00 and head east. Those familiar with central south Fl. know fog can be a real hazard in the middle of the night. It's like soup, I can barely see beyond my front tire, and the fog is soaking through my clothes. To make matters worse, the truckers like to use route 60 also.

The only light on the back of my bike is the small brake/ tail light over my license plate. I don't dare go over 35 mph in fear of hitting a deer, this means the semi's coming from behind will overtake me at considerably higher speed. Every time I see headlights approaching from behind I flash my brake light and pray they notice.

Being so wet I'm again freezing, so I decide to stay on route 60 through to Vero Beach and turn south on US 1. I make the turn south about 8:00 AM, glad to feel the warm air coming in from the ocean. I cruise easy the rest of the way home, through Fort Pierce, on into Port Saint Lucie, and home about 9:00.

When I pull into the driveway I've been on the bike for over 25 hrs, 23 actually in the saddle. Climbing off the bike I almost collapse, my legs don't want to work. Nanette runs outside and helps me into the house. After hugging and kissing my angel, talking about the night’s ordeal, I take a quick, very hot shower and fall into the bed for the next 12 hrs.

This ends the Deer Jumper saga. Thank you all for being so patient, hope this last installment wasn't too long of a read.

Martin

Wow... I'm totally impressed with your stamina on that last leg. So in your mind, what was worse, the cold heading west, or the fog at the end of a marathon day? I've ridden in both and don't like either a whole lot.

dr_bar wrote:Wow... I'm totally impressed with your stamina on that last leg. So in your mind, what was worse, the cold heading west, or the fog at the end of a marathon day? I've ridden in both and don't like either a whole lot.

It's really hard to say, but being I was so tired on the last leg I would have to say the fog, not to mention the fear of being steamrolled by a semi.

Martin

Love to hear more of your adventures on your bike, there has to be more than that one trip across the country. I'm not at all familiar with much of the east coast. I've only ridden from Bar Harbor Maine to Boston in the east, then hit NY State and met jstark47 and his wonderful wife for a ride up into Ontario to meet Gummiente, his wonderfully artistic partner and the wonder dog... Keep up the blog...