connick
0
Monday, October 18: Ruidoso, NM - Euless, TX
Map - 599 miles
I would say I woke up early on Monday morning, but really, I was awake for quite a while, waiting for morning to arrive. My phone had died during the night, and I don’t wear a watch, so I had no idea what time it was while just waiting for the sky to lighten. Just before getting up I heard some large antlered animal wandering through the trees up the hill from me, his horns scraping through and snapping off the branches. A short time later, I stuck my head out of the tent and thought I could detect a bit of dawn. I stumbled out and started the bike to check the time--5:30AM according to the clock, which meant 6:30 local. Morning. Finally.
The bike and tent, hiding beneath the towering trees.
All packed up and ready to roll.
It was another nippy morning as I headed back down into Ruidoso and picked up US-380 eastwards to Roswell, but at least I was able to wear my now-dry winter gloves. I stayed pretty comfortable as I rode through the transition from the last of the mountains to the great plains, heading into the rising sun. I was still holding to around a 70mph maximum, and getting passed by most of the other traffic on the road. I had decided to try and find an open shop in Roswell, and maybe head on to Lubbock if I couldn’t find one.
Wildlife along US-380.
Into the sunrise.
I passed a hole-in-the-wall shop called Southland Cycles just as I was heading into Roswell, at about 9 AM. It was still early, but there was a car out front, so I pulled in to check it out. They were open, but didn’t have any tires that would fit the FZ1. The guy there suggested I try Motion Performance, another shop farther along 380. I found it a few miles later, open, and with a set of Metzler M3’s in a 190 size! I explained my situation to the guys there, and they agreed to clear one of their workstations to get my tires swapped out right away.
I still really only needed a rear tire--it had finally reached the point that it really had no tread left in the center, through the telltale horizontal cracks had still not appeared--but the front was getting down there, it was more then three years old, and I was going to need to replace it soon anyways. Since Motion Performance was good enough to work on my bike immediately, I figured I’d throw them the extra business and have them do the front as well.
On the lift, ready to have her wheels pulled off.
I ended up having a great time hanging out at the shop with Garvin and Jim while they worked on my bike. Garvin is a dirt-track racer with some great stories, a penchant for bad jokes, and a few nice racebikes hanging out in the back of his shop. There was a steady stream of visitors coming by as well, dropping off machines for work, or just swinging by to shoot the breeze. The local burrito lady also swung by on her morning delivery run so I managed to sneak in some breakfast while I was there, as well.
My new tires were on and balanced within 90 minutes of my arrival, and I was ready to get on the road by 10:30. Garvin was kind enough to give me a big break on the marked retail price of the tires, and I ended up paying less then $400 for both M3s, mounted and balanced, including tax. I was hugely grateful to them for their quick and friendly service; if you’re in the Roswell area and need some quick repairs or work done, I’d highly recommend looking up Motion Performance.
New shoes. Yum.
One more pic in front of the shop.
I was still showing more the half a tank as I left MP, still heading east on 380. I wasn’t certain where the next town out was, though, so I figured I’d stop and top off. The first station I pulled in to was out of premium--on to the next one. That one didn’t say they were out, but none was coming out of my hose, and the guy next to me said he had his filling for several minutes, and didn’t even have a gallon in yet. Argh. On to the next one.
As it turns out, that was the last gas station heading out of Roswell. I didn’t think anything of it, I could just fill up in the next town. In the meantime... I had new rubber! I could break 80mph without worrying about my tire life! Woohoo! The wrist rotated, the speedo climbed, and the gas gauge started dropping. I passed a sign announcing the town of Caprock in a couple miles, which I was glad for, since I was getting pretty low on fuel. I cruised into Caprock and was greeted with a few run-down shacks and a small general store. Uh-oh. I thought back to that last sign I saw... another twentysome miles to Tatum. My reserve light was already blinking. Is there even fuel in Tatum? I’m not sure, but there’s no fuel here. I continue on, willing for there to be enough fuel left in the tank to get me there. I’m back to cruising in 6th gear at 60 mph in a full tuck, with semi’s passing me in the other lane. Crap, I thought I was done with this. I finally make it to Tatum with no sputtering, and fill up at the first gas station I see, with 174 miles showing on the trip meter. Whew.
Shortly after leaving Tatum, I crossed into the final state on my ride, Texas. I’m thankful for the fact that I now have a full tank of gas to go along with my fresh tires, because if there’s one thing you want when crossing west Texas, it’s the ability to go fast. As I told my friends before leaving: flying to California to pick up a bike and riding it back is a wonderful way to see all the great roads in AZ and NM while only having to cross west Texas once!
Back in the right state, at least.
There is a common thread through most Texas ride reports: county courthouses. There are 254 of them, and motorcyclists love taking pics in front of them, for some reason. I passed quite a few on my way across the state.
Yoakum County Courthouse, Plains, TX.
There’s a bit of cotton growing around here.
Make that quite a bit of cotton.
Terry County Courthouse, Brownsfield, TX.
I mean, tons of cotton.
Lynn County Courthouse, Tahoka, TX.
Garza County Courhouse, Post, TX.
Stopped for a snack in Post. Sometimes a roadside billboard causes a craving that just must be fed.
Flat, straight, non-scenic west Texas. This part of the ride certainly does not
Haskell County Courthouse, Haskell, TX.
Throckmorton County Courthouse, Throckmorton, TX.
Final stop: Jack County Courthouse, Jacksboro, TX.
I had made rapid progress across Texas throughout the day, stopping in Post for my McD’s snack at about 2:30 (after losing an hour crossing into the central time zone from NM), reaching Haskell at about 5:30, and pulling into my final gas stop in Jacksboro at about 6:45. Leaving Roswell that morning, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it home by that evening, but I shouldn’t have doubted the ability of the FZ1 to make good time on these empty roads. Darkness fell as I was leaving Jacksboro, but I was back in familiar territory as I headed down TX-199 towards the DFW freeways.
I arrived back at my apartment a short time later, at about 8:30 Monday night. Vic rushed downstairs when she heard me pull up, excited to have me home, and came running at me to give me a hug, only to recoil in disgust when she got to within a few feet. Apparently I was prominently displaying the effects of several hundred miles of riding on my suit. She took a few pics and then made me de-gear before she would touch me.
Finally home with the new toy.
Ew. And to think I just washed it before I left.
More ew.
The FZ1 was showing 1888 miles on the odometer from leaving Brent’s house on Thursday to my return on Monday. It never gave me a single problem, starting on the first try every time, even on those freezing cold mornings, and running great, even in the midst of a torrential storm. It does have a tendency to eat rear tires, but I think that has as much to do with my wrist as with the bike. The riding position was spot-on for me, and I never really felt uncomfortable on it, though the seat could use a bit more padding (a set of Corbins should be in the mail right now, just need to go get them). It handled everything this trip threw at it in stride, and I think I made a pretty good choice in buying it. I hope to have many more fun miles on it in the future.
As for the ride itself... it did have it’s high points, some great roads and beautiful sights. However, some of those trials along the way certainly put a damper on it. I’m glad I made the trip, but when Vic asked me after I got back if I would go back and do it all over again, everything exactly the same, I didn’t hesitate long before answering in the negative. Overall, it was a kind of stressful, worry-filled ride, with some pretty crappy weather and road conditions along the way. I’d really like to try doing the whole thing again down the line, when maybe conditions will be better... but not anytime soon.
The day after I got back, the FZ1 got a good cleaning to bring her back to her previous condition. It’s kind of funny, I would wash the VFR maybe once or twice a year, but I felt almost obligated to clean up the FZ. She was so nice and shiny when I got her from Brent, it was like I felt guilty for putting her through that ride and leaving her splattered with bugs and grime. She’s down in the garage now, all clean and pristine, though she’d better not get used to it; I’m sure she won’t stay that way for long.
The wife and the mistress, all cleaned up and ready to ride.
Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed it!
Map - 599 miles
I would say I woke up early on Monday morning, but really, I was awake for quite a while, waiting for morning to arrive. My phone had died during the night, and I don’t wear a watch, so I had no idea what time it was while just waiting for the sky to lighten. Just before getting up I heard some large antlered animal wandering through the trees up the hill from me, his horns scraping through and snapping off the branches. A short time later, I stuck my head out of the tent and thought I could detect a bit of dawn. I stumbled out and started the bike to check the time--5:30AM according to the clock, which meant 6:30 local. Morning. Finally.
The bike and tent, hiding beneath the towering trees.
All packed up and ready to roll.
It was another nippy morning as I headed back down into Ruidoso and picked up US-380 eastwards to Roswell, but at least I was able to wear my now-dry winter gloves. I stayed pretty comfortable as I rode through the transition from the last of the mountains to the great plains, heading into the rising sun. I was still holding to around a 70mph maximum, and getting passed by most of the other traffic on the road. I had decided to try and find an open shop in Roswell, and maybe head on to Lubbock if I couldn’t find one.
Wildlife along US-380.
Into the sunrise.
I passed a hole-in-the-wall shop called Southland Cycles just as I was heading into Roswell, at about 9 AM. It was still early, but there was a car out front, so I pulled in to check it out. They were open, but didn’t have any tires that would fit the FZ1. The guy there suggested I try Motion Performance, another shop farther along 380. I found it a few miles later, open, and with a set of Metzler M3’s in a 190 size! I explained my situation to the guys there, and they agreed to clear one of their workstations to get my tires swapped out right away.
I still really only needed a rear tire--it had finally reached the point that it really had no tread left in the center, through the telltale horizontal cracks had still not appeared--but the front was getting down there, it was more then three years old, and I was going to need to replace it soon anyways. Since Motion Performance was good enough to work on my bike immediately, I figured I’d throw them the extra business and have them do the front as well.
On the lift, ready to have her wheels pulled off.
I ended up having a great time hanging out at the shop with Garvin and Jim while they worked on my bike. Garvin is a dirt-track racer with some great stories, a penchant for bad jokes, and a few nice racebikes hanging out in the back of his shop. There was a steady stream of visitors coming by as well, dropping off machines for work, or just swinging by to shoot the breeze. The local burrito lady also swung by on her morning delivery run so I managed to sneak in some breakfast while I was there, as well.
My new tires were on and balanced within 90 minutes of my arrival, and I was ready to get on the road by 10:30. Garvin was kind enough to give me a big break on the marked retail price of the tires, and I ended up paying less then $400 for both M3s, mounted and balanced, including tax. I was hugely grateful to them for their quick and friendly service; if you’re in the Roswell area and need some quick repairs or work done, I’d highly recommend looking up Motion Performance.
New shoes. Yum.
One more pic in front of the shop.
I was still showing more the half a tank as I left MP, still heading east on 380. I wasn’t certain where the next town out was, though, so I figured I’d stop and top off. The first station I pulled in to was out of premium--on to the next one. That one didn’t say they were out, but none was coming out of my hose, and the guy next to me said he had his filling for several minutes, and didn’t even have a gallon in yet. Argh. On to the next one.
As it turns out, that was the last gas station heading out of Roswell. I didn’t think anything of it, I could just fill up in the next town. In the meantime... I had new rubber! I could break 80mph without worrying about my tire life! Woohoo! The wrist rotated, the speedo climbed, and the gas gauge started dropping. I passed a sign announcing the town of Caprock in a couple miles, which I was glad for, since I was getting pretty low on fuel. I cruised into Caprock and was greeted with a few run-down shacks and a small general store. Uh-oh. I thought back to that last sign I saw... another twentysome miles to Tatum. My reserve light was already blinking. Is there even fuel in Tatum? I’m not sure, but there’s no fuel here. I continue on, willing for there to be enough fuel left in the tank to get me there. I’m back to cruising in 6th gear at 60 mph in a full tuck, with semi’s passing me in the other lane. Crap, I thought I was done with this. I finally make it to Tatum with no sputtering, and fill up at the first gas station I see, with 174 miles showing on the trip meter. Whew.
Shortly after leaving Tatum, I crossed into the final state on my ride, Texas. I’m thankful for the fact that I now have a full tank of gas to go along with my fresh tires, because if there’s one thing you want when crossing west Texas, it’s the ability to go fast. As I told my friends before leaving: flying to California to pick up a bike and riding it back is a wonderful way to see all the great roads in AZ and NM while only having to cross west Texas once!
Back in the right state, at least.
There is a common thread through most Texas ride reports: county courthouses. There are 254 of them, and motorcyclists love taking pics in front of them, for some reason. I passed quite a few on my way across the state.
Yoakum County Courthouse, Plains, TX.
There’s a bit of cotton growing around here.
Make that quite a bit of cotton.
Terry County Courthouse, Brownsfield, TX.
I mean, tons of cotton.
Lynn County Courthouse, Tahoka, TX.
Garza County Courhouse, Post, TX.
Stopped for a snack in Post. Sometimes a roadside billboard causes a craving that just must be fed.
Flat, straight, non-scenic west Texas. This part of the ride certainly does not
Haskell County Courthouse, Haskell, TX.
Throckmorton County Courthouse, Throckmorton, TX.
Final stop: Jack County Courthouse, Jacksboro, TX.
I had made rapid progress across Texas throughout the day, stopping in Post for my McD’s snack at about 2:30 (after losing an hour crossing into the central time zone from NM), reaching Haskell at about 5:30, and pulling into my final gas stop in Jacksboro at about 6:45. Leaving Roswell that morning, I wasn’t sure I was going to make it home by that evening, but I shouldn’t have doubted the ability of the FZ1 to make good time on these empty roads. Darkness fell as I was leaving Jacksboro, but I was back in familiar territory as I headed down TX-199 towards the DFW freeways.
I arrived back at my apartment a short time later, at about 8:30 Monday night. Vic rushed downstairs when she heard me pull up, excited to have me home, and came running at me to give me a hug, only to recoil in disgust when she got to within a few feet. Apparently I was prominently displaying the effects of several hundred miles of riding on my suit. She took a few pics and then made me de-gear before she would touch me.
Finally home with the new toy.
Ew. And to think I just washed it before I left.
More ew.
The FZ1 was showing 1888 miles on the odometer from leaving Brent’s house on Thursday to my return on Monday. It never gave me a single problem, starting on the first try every time, even on those freezing cold mornings, and running great, even in the midst of a torrential storm. It does have a tendency to eat rear tires, but I think that has as much to do with my wrist as with the bike. The riding position was spot-on for me, and I never really felt uncomfortable on it, though the seat could use a bit more padding (a set of Corbins should be in the mail right now, just need to go get them). It handled everything this trip threw at it in stride, and I think I made a pretty good choice in buying it. I hope to have many more fun miles on it in the future.
As for the ride itself... it did have it’s high points, some great roads and beautiful sights. However, some of those trials along the way certainly put a damper on it. I’m glad I made the trip, but when Vic asked me after I got back if I would go back and do it all over again, everything exactly the same, I didn’t hesitate long before answering in the negative. Overall, it was a kind of stressful, worry-filled ride, with some pretty crappy weather and road conditions along the way. I’d really like to try doing the whole thing again down the line, when maybe conditions will be better... but not anytime soon.
The day after I got back, the FZ1 got a good cleaning to bring her back to her previous condition. It’s kind of funny, I would wash the VFR maybe once or twice a year, but I felt almost obligated to clean up the FZ. She was so nice and shiny when I got her from Brent, it was like I felt guilty for putting her through that ride and leaving her splattered with bugs and grime. She’s down in the garage now, all clean and pristine, though she’d better not get used to it; I’m sure she won’t stay that way for long.
The wife and the mistress, all cleaned up and ready to ride.
Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed it!