Babieca Goes to Texas
Babieca Goes to Texas (6-7/2009)
The general idea was to take the 2008 Road King (La Babieca) to El Paso, Texas, where my friend Mike Robertson commands the medical unit at Fort Bliss. The route—subject always and inevitably to modification—will take us to the Poconos (Pennsylvania), the Pennsylvania Dutch Country, Gettysburg, Skyline Drive (Virginia), Blue Ridge Parkway, Memphis, the Great Mississippi River Road (Arkansas), Texarkana and then west across Texas (Dallas, Abilene, Odessa) to El Paso. The route back will be through Albuquerque (New Mexico), Route 66 to Oklahoma City (Oklahoma), Harlan (Kentucky), the Kentucky Country Music Highway, West Virginia to I-81, and then home. We plan to be gone for at least a month. In the event, the trip turned out to be more or less according to plan.
June 6, Saturday (300 miles)
After postponing the trip for a day because of the rain, we started out at 8:00. It was cold and overcast, and stayed that way most of the day. Blanca was basically O.K. but had cold feet and hands. About 5:00, we arrived at Wilsonville Campground, Lake Wallenpaupack. It’s a lovely place, right on the lake. Most of the people there are in huge R.V.’s. We ate at a nice nearby restaurant, Muggs.
During the night there were several technical problems: (a) it took me about an hour to get a fire going, even with the synthetic firestarter and a $5 pile of wood. (I should not have quit Boy Scouts so soon; but as soon as I discovered that they forbad masturbation, I figured that this wasn’t the outfit for me); (b) Blanca’s inflatable mattress went dead after about a half hour, and we ended up exchanging during the night; (c) Blanca was cold; she hadn’t worn the cap and tights that I’d suggested. Not a good night, comfort-wise.
June 7, Sunday (150 miles)
We had a good breakfast (Muggs again), and were on the road by 11:15. The route took us south through Easton, Allentown, and Reading. Once into Amish country, the scenery was all flat, rich farmland. We encountered countless buggies, driven by people out of central casting. Once past Reading, we went through places like Honey Brook, Intercourse, and Bird in Hand. (We also passed signs for Virginville. Ah, those Amish!) We ended up on route 30, just outside Lancaster. In Ronks, we installed ourselves in the Soudersburg Motel. Then we crossed the street and pigged out at an “all you can eat” buffet. We were surrounded by a contingent of morbidly obese people who went back for third and fourth helpings. It is really disheartening when one travels and sees the physical condition of countless “average” people. Unless the country changes its lifestyle, we’re headed for certain extinction.
June 8, Monday
We left Ronks and followed Rt.30 to Gettysburg (about 100 miles).
We ate in a nice downtown restaurant on Lincoln Square and then checked into Artillery Ridge Campground. The weather looked ominous and the people we spoke to said there would be a thunderstorm coming, so we opted for a primitive cabin instead of a campsite. Mistake. As soon as we unpacked, the sun came out and the clouds disappeared. But the cabin was nice, although without much of anything in it and without a bathroom.
We donned our running togs and headed out to explore the battlefield. The campground is about 50 meters from an entrance and is very close to Little Round Top, which Chamberlain and the boys from Maine had so valiantly defended. We walked the main trail along Cemetery Ridge, which was the Union line facing the Confederates across the field at Seminary Ridge. The road is lined with canon and memorials to various units and individuals. There is a huge memorial erected by the state of Pennsylvania to honor its dead, and it has as statue of the Goddess Victory on top.
We then walked to the National Cemetery, where Lincoln gave the Gettysburg Address. Then back to town, where we had a drink at the same restaurant as before on Lincoln Square, looking across at the Gettysburg Hotel and the private house where Lincoln stayed the night before his speech. Then we walked back to the campground.
It was an extremely positive day (except for the inflatable mattress that we bought at a Wal-Mart along the way: weird size, heavy, doesn’t inflate as stated). But visiting the battleground was a very moving experience. The sheer beauty of the rolling fields and the smell of the honeysuckle was a strange backdrop to the horrific events we knew had occurred there. It simply boggles the mind to reflect that more men (more than 50,000) died at Gettysburg in three days than did in the whole Vietnam War. And the aura that Lincoln’s figure casts over the whole area keeps one fighting back tears.
I’m writing this in our cabin. It has no sheets or running water, but it does have WiFi!
June 9, Tuesday (about 260 miles)
We left Gettysburg about 10:30 and made the 100 miles to Virginia in about two hours. We got on Skyline drive and were heading to camp at Big Meadows. But when we got there it was only 2:30, and the weather and almost complete lack of traffic made me reluctant to stop. I think we saw more deer—-we raced one and won—-than people. There was a clear blue sky and after the 112 miles of Skyline Drive we segued onto the Blue Ridge Parkway.
We’d decided to head for Otter Creek, 60 miles south where there would be camping and a restaurant. We went happily along for about 50 miles when we were hit by an intense thunderstorm, complete with hail. It came on so quickly that we were already wet before we could even think of getting into rain gear. We slowly continued for about another ten miles and took the exit for Buena Vista (=”Byoona-Vista” for the locals) and found a nice enough motel (Buena Vista Motel). The place was already filling up with other bikers heading off the Parkway. The owner said there were flood warnings and predictions of three more hours of thunderstorms. We unpacked and emerged from the room in a sunlit, almost cloudless sky! We dined at Captain Tim’s, where we had fish and chips and “sweet tea.” We then walked to downtown Buena Vista, which is filled with typical Virginia quasi shacks alongside huge Victorian mansions. After walking for about 45 minutes, we finally found a Mexican restaurant (Don Tequila), where we had acceptable margaritas and pleasant conversation with the chef. It was a nice walk back to the motel.
June 10, Wednesday. (160 miles)
We head back to the Parkway toward Willville (at mile mark 177, Rt. 58 West). Rain threatening, so we exit at Floyd. Lunch at Floyd Country Store, one of the cameos of the Crooked Road ($20). Back on route 8 toward Stuart (very hilly and curvy!) where we pick up Rt.58 (still Crooked Road) to Meadows of Dan and Willville. As we pulled in it started to rain, so we took a cabin. Our fellow guests were very interesting, congenial people. I walked about a mile to procure wine, bread, and turkey slices. More genial conversation. Great place!
June 11, Thursday.
We got up a bit late, and Will came over to say goodbye. He had things to do in town. Our plan was to head for another motorcycle camp in Cruso, North Carolina, a good day’s ride south on the Parkway. Things, however, didn’t turn out that way.
I had a hell of a time getting the motorcycle out of the shelter next to the cabin where we’d parked it for the night. The constant rain had turned the lawn into a mud pie, and it was like trying to ride on an ice-skating rink.
We got on the road about 11:00 and had several pleasant hours on the Parkway before the rain started. Luckily we had stopped to put on our rain gear just before it hit. Unluckily, the rain gear is never perfect, and Blanca was quite uncomfortable when we stopped for lunch.
The weather looked a bit better, but not much. We continued into North Carolina, where we encountered the Parkway closed and were forced to detour. I was miffed that there were no warnings earlier on, and I learned that there would be a series of detours—the same ones we’d caught last year. Change of plans. I turned north to Jefferson City, where I got Rt. 16, which took me to Route 58. This stretch of 58 is on the Crooked Road, and it is indeed very crooked. There are lots of mountain climbs and descents, and lots of sharp curves. When we emerged from the gnarly part at Damascus, the rain really hit us hard: thunder and lighting and torrential, blinding sheets. I chugged along, barely able to see, into Abingdon, Va., where we were able to get a room right off I-81. Everything we had was soaking wet. We walked up the hill to the gas station and bought a six-pack of beer.
Back in the motel, we realized that we (=Blanca) had left the battery charger for the digital camera, the charger for her mobile phone, and a favorite rain jacket back at Willville. No more pictures for a while.
June 12, Friday.
The plan is now to get on the Interstate (81 and then 40) and do some miles, one hopes without rain. That’s just what happened. We did Bristol to about 100 miles east of Memphis (400 miles). It was basically uneventful, and we were grateful to escape the threats of more thunderstorms.
June 13, Saturday. (410 miles)
We did about 140 miles to Memphis and crossed the Mississippi into Arkansas (West Memphis) and soon picked up the Great River Road, which took us through Hughes and Mariana. (The Great River Road is the Byway that goes through ten states, from Minnesota to Louisiana, following the course of the Big River). Very flat delta farmland; not much of anybody around. At Francis State Park, we got directed—by the Byway signs--unto a 10 mile stretch of unpaved, puddle-filled dirt road strewn with tree branches. There was absolutely nobody there; we never encountered another vehicle. A sign about half way into it said “Dangerous when wet.” The “road” was extremely rutted and slippery. This was a very dangerous stretch, and I’m amazed that the “Byway” directed people unto it without warning. As is well known, heavy Harleys are not meant for off road use. We arrived in Helena rather rattled. From Helena, we took 79 towards Pine Bluff, where we finally found a Wal-Mart where we could replace Blanca’s battery charger. We couldn’t find lodging, so we continued on 530 to Little Rock, where we found a very acceptable motel. Tomorrow we’d continue on I-30 to Texarkana.
June 14, Sunday.
We wimped and decided to pass the day hanging out in the motel (America’s Best Value Inn). We had both breakfast and lunch in the only place around: the Waffle House. I went to the convenience store to buy a six pack of beer. As I reached into the fridge, the clerk yelled at me: “You put that back there; it’s Sunday and in Arkansas you can’t buy beer on Sunday!” There was a little kid standing there, who was obviously coming back from Church. He looked at me and
grinned.
June 15, Monday.
Today was all about miles: big, dry, hot, Texas ones (470). We passed through Texarkana into Texas. We had an excellent Mexican meal and made friends with a family from Guanajuato, where were had, years ago, enjoyed the “mummy” museum, a cave filled with desiccated human cadavers.
There was a long, hot by-pass around Dallas-Ft. Worth. We finally broke free on Rt. I-20, headed for Abilene. About 60 miles out (Eastman), we found an acceptable “Super 8” motel and called it a day.
The first letdown was to discover that we were in a “dry” county. What I wanted most in the whole world was a cold beer, and to satisfy my desire I had to ride five miles back into another county, where I bought a six-pack of Corona at a truck stop.
Dinner was a bit surreal. We walked out of the motel and headed for a sign that said “Valentinos.” The building that came into view was a shining silver “diner,” with an art deco look and a fancy Italian menu. (But no wine.) The obviously gay waiter told us that he was studying theater at a local community college. I asked him about his favorite play; it was “Phantom of the Opera.” The ambient music was what you’d expect to hear in an aroma-therapy session. Local cowboys were eating several tables away. Blanca had fettuccine, and I had mushroom spaghetti with aglio & olio.
June 16, Tuesday.
More Texas miles (about 400). It was pretty hot all day, and we had to force ourselves to keep drinking. First Abilene, and then on to Midland, where the flat green landscape became increasing dotted with oil rigs. I thought of George Bush and how completely suited he was to this barren and sterile place. Then on through Odessa, Pecos, etc. As we got closer to El Paso, the mountains began to appear in the distance, and the landscape became much more dry and desert-like, with occasional bluffs and buttes. We pulled off in Van Horn and found a little motel filled with Mexicans with grills in front of their rooms, playing rancheros. I walked a couple of blocks to snag a six-pack of Tecate. I stopped for stamps along the way and conducted my business in Spanish. I feel like we’re in Mexico already. What a difference a day’s travel can make!
June 17, Wednesday
We did 120 miles to El Paso, with fairly impressive mountain scenery: purple mountains and dry desert. We had been on the road for about 3000 miles.
When we finally got to Fort Bliss, a minor drama ensued. At the guard post, we were directed to the “pass office,” where we were required to get an entry document. We were received by an extremely uncooperative woman who refused to give me a pass to enter the base because I couldn’t produce a “training certificate” for riding the bike. After a bit of “Alfonse and Gaston,” half in Spanish, she finally gave us two “walk in” passes so that we could get to Mike’s house. But she was adamant: no motorcycle on the base without said certificate. (She pulled out a regulation book, which she proceeded to highlight.) So I left the bike outside the office—although the woman said she couldn’t guarantee its safety—and walked 300 meters to Mike’s house. Luckily his son was home and was able to get in touch with his father. Mike said he’d make a phone call and get the situation straightened out. A half hour later, we all went back to the pass office, where there occurred a very unpleasant interchange with the original woman. An MP showed up, and then several more. Upshot: the woman was fired on the spot! Her substitute issued me a two-week pass for the bike and one for Blanca. It was not the sort of entrance I expected, but I was glad to be there.
Mike took us to a fantastic Mexican restaurant, and he showed us a bit around El Paso. It’s immense! I didn’t expect anything so big! The base itself is overwhelming.
It’s impressive to see Mike working. (He’s a Colonel in the 82nd Airborne who runs a medical unit.) He’s on the blackberry all the time, although today he had his 17th surgery on his teeth (an explosion in Iraq); he’s also been wounded in the calf, which frustrates the serious athlete that he’s always been.
June 18, Thursday
I got up early and brought the bike to Barnett Harley, the largest H-D dealership in the world. It’s big beyond belief. Four hours later, I forked over $1000 for the 15,000 mile service, two new tires, break pads, etc. And they say that polo is the sport of kings!
I got back to Mike’s in time to get Dario’s radio show. It’s mind boggling to think that here I am, sitting in El Paso Texas, listening to Chico Buarque, served up by my great friend on the other side of the country.
We went for a ride to the PX, where Blanca oversaw the buying of supplies. The place is huge and offers an incredible range of first quality fruits, veggies, and everything else.
Carlos and Mickey’s is supposed to have the best margaritas in town. I totally concur. We had a great time, hobnobbing and listening to mariachis. Blanca was at her best, schmoozing with everyone. Mike—in spite of his continuing tooth pain--was enchanted by the beautiful Mexican women.
On the way back to the base, we drove up the mountain for an incredible view of the vast illuminated vista that is El Paso-Juarez.
“Taps” was sounded just as we were going to bed.
June 19, Friday
We went for a walk around the base. We especially enjoyed the replica of Old Fort Bliss, a scale model of the Fort during the mid 1800’s.
At 6:00, we went to the boxing matches: six bouts (3 1-minute rounds). One of Mike’s soldiers had entered. (He got creamed.) Mike had been on the Army boxing team and was an avid spectator. Blanca and I had a great time.
After the boxing, we went to Sorrento’s Italian restaurant, for great pizza and Chianti.
June 20, Saturday
5 km race. Blanca came in second in her age group; Mike and his son both came in third in their age groups. I ran a bit over 30 minutes, which was respectable, given my utter lack of recent training.
We went to El Paso Airport to pick up Ben, Mike’s middle son, who had stayed with us in Spain. (He there developed a fondness for Blanca’s cooking.)
To Carlos & Mickey’s again.
June 21, Sunday.
We went for a beautiful hike in the Franklin Mountains.
Blanca made delicious paella, despite the lack of most of the “authentic” ingredients and equipment. Everyone was delighted with her efforts. The fact of the matter is that she’s an amazing cook!
June 22, Monday.
Shopping. Blanca bought 3 pairs of cowboy boots, and a fringe jacket. Needless to say, we had to post them back.
June 23, Tuesday.
June 24, Wednesday.
Lunch in La Mesilla, near Las Cruces.
June 25, Thursday, June 26, Friday, June 27, Saturday.
We did a lot of “hanging out” with Mike, often reminiscing of our former days of glory at the Old Dominion 100 Miler. We agreed that it is better, although painful, to be a “has been” than to be a “never has been.”
We took a tram up the Franklin Mountains and then drove the “Mission trail.”
“Cattleman” restaurant, Fabens.
June 28, Sunday.
We started the day with a sumptuous breakfast at the Officers’ Club. We then proceeded to the Chamizal Memorial, which commemorates the 1960(?) treaty with Mexico; it remarked the border after changes occurred in the course of the Rio Grande. We watched from the nearby park the traffic crossing the bridge into Juarez. (We didn’t go into Mexico because of the recent spate of drug-related violence. It was off limits to soldiers.
The El Paso Zoo was surprisingly well done.
June 29, Monday.
Hanging out.
June 30, Tuesday.
Blanca’s birthday. We went to Carlos and Mickey’s for margaritas, and I sung “Besame Mucho” to an appreciative crowd.
July 1, Wednesday.
We got up early and were on the road about 8:30. We’d had wonderful time with Mike, who treated us like royalty. He’s an amazing guy, and being around him has a tonic effect.
We had a very pleasant ride (about 260 miles) through the desert to Albuquerque, where we picked up Route 66 east.
Lunch near Tijeras. Blanca noticed that my exhaust pipe was hanging loose; a screw had apparently vibrated off. Luckily, we found “Kucklehead’s” Motorcycle Shop, in Edgewood, where the owner Alice fixed the problem, and we were on our way.
We got a Super 8 motel ($70) in Moriarty, on Rt.66.
July 2, Thursday.
We left Moriarty and went through Santa Rosa (Rt.66) and Tucumcari, where Blanca brought lots of stuff. We crossed back into the Texas panhandle, through Amarillo, McClean, and stopped at Shamrock. We did about 330 miles. It was very hot, and there was lots of wind. (It blew off Blanca’s bandana.)
July 3, Friday (450 miles)
We crossed Oklahoma (Oklahoma City, Fort Smith) into Arkansas. We stopped at Morrilton, about 50 miles west of Little Rock. It was a good day, although very hot. Blanca was getting cranky at the end, going even so far as to insult Babieca’s seat.
July 4, Saturday
We crossed the rest of Arkansas into Tennessee. The bridge over the Mississippi at Memphis offers a majestic view. We stopped at Stanton, about 150 miles west of Nashville.
July 5, Sunday.
We went east to Nashille, where we picked up 65N to Kentucky. A bit past the border, we finally got off the Interstate and had a delicious ride on Kentucky 100. When we got to the Cumberland Parkway, however, the rain had become serious, and we went through some pretty heavy duty thunderstorms before calling it quits at Somerset.
July 6, Monday.
Today was a great day of riding (260 miles). After leaving Somerset, we were soon able to get off the beaten track and enjoy some beautiful roads. The sun shone all day. W passed briefly into Virginia and then went over the mountain to Cumberland, which was spectacular. The miners’ museum was closed. Passing Whitesburg, we got on Rt23, the “Country Music Highway,” and got as far as Pikeville.
July 7, Tuesday.
Today was a particularly delicious one as far as riding was concerned. We did 288 miles, mostly through southern West Virginia coal country. (After Paintsville, we took Rt. 40, which took us to 52, where we crossed into West Virginia (Kermit). Just before we left Kentucky, we stopped in a small roadside restaurant, where we had our usual gargantuan breakfasts. As we leaving the man who had been sitting next to us stood up and started singing. It was a scene right out of “Songcatcher,” and I now very much regret leaving without talking with him and hearing more of his raspy voice. From then on it was southeast to Bluefield. Then up I77 to Beckley, where we picked up I64 going east. We stopped at Lewisburg, West Virginia, not far from the Virginia border. We had sun all the way.
A principal way that travel empowers is by giving one the opportunity to progress from thoughts, squiggles on maps, and tentative sentences to making goal directed bodily movements. The conversion of a plan into experience is one way in which to leave one’s imprint on the world: in Nietzsche’s terms to exercise “the will to power.” Like an amoeba who incorporates parts of its surroundings, the traveler shapes and greedily sucks up bits of the future, integrating them into himself, providing nourishment, growth, and new substance. You are what you experience, no?
posted by RHogan at
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