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The Road Trip with Bad Mojo, or My Plutonium Butt Run

Road Warrior Meets Bad Mojo

The shuffle hike instilled some spirit back into me and I returned to the cabin with a renewed sense of purpose. And with a growling stomach.

To conserve on gas, I had decided to stay put until leaving the next morning. Remembering I had packed a zip bag of pancake mix, I added water and cooked a stack of pancakes to eat now and to carry in the tank bag for nibbling during the ride the next day.

Before leaving home, I threw in an envelope of dehydrated meal: Chicken with Jamaican BBQ Sauce. I picked it up last fall more from curiosity than need: ‘Jamaican BBQ’?? I pulled that out, added two cups of boiling water and let it sit for fifteen minutes (the instructions suggested 10-12 minutes) while I sat at the table and planned a ride of attack towards home.

After mapping out a route, estimating fuel consumption and cost, and arranging maps inside my tank bag map holder, I dished out half of the strange brew while nearly salivating in the bowl.

A warning should be added to the package: Eat under duress.

I ate the camouflaged Styrofoam shreds trying to suppress a grimace; I was too hungry to care. My ‘meal’ was chased down with a pancake and a bottle of water while I prepared to pack and load the bike once again.

Everything loaded, traveling clothes laid out to don the next morning, I planned to wake by 6 am and get on the road by 7. Since there were no phones or even clocks in the cabins, I would have to rely on my own internal clock to wake me. Regardless, I laid my watch on the table beside the bed. After talking with Bill on the phone again and trading information and plans, I found myself groggy with sleep and laid down for a nap on the bed about 4 pm.

The next thing I knew I was fully awake, sensing that I had overslept and glanced at my watch: 6:30. Oh crap…….. I overslept till the next morning, but not too badly.

Jumping out of bed and pulling clothes on, brushing teeth and gathering odds and ends, I felt the Road Warrior surface: I was eager and ready to roll.

I immediately took stock of the weather outside: still gray and somewhat dark, but enough light to get things together and rolling. After a last look around the cabin, I closed and locked the door, warmed up Whee and rode up the steep driveway to the cabin and on to the park headquarters to drop my keys into the office box.

Everything was still quiet and all I heard was the comforting whine and purr of my bike as we rode out onto the park road. Retracing my way to the park and turning the opposite direction, I enjoyed the lack of traffic on the country roads and through the small towns. The Road Warrior inside smiled a little and it felt good to be back on the road.

Heading south towards I-40, I kept an eye out for the entrance to the highway. I discovered quickly in the countryside out there that warning and directional signs are sometimes non-existent or hidden behind trees and shrubs.

Knowing I was getting close, I reduced my speed but still nearly missed the entrance to I-40 south. I nearly passed it. At the last moment, I made a judgment call and made a hard lean right to enter the circular on-ramp. Then I realized I had to lean more or I was going to go off the road and crash.

Lean I did, rolling on the throttle to increase centrifugal force but maintaining the turn. The last thing I wanted was to let go of the throttle and lose speed: I would drop sideways. Suddenly I felt and heard my right peg and boot gouging the tarmac under me. I’ve scraped pegs before but this was more than a scrape; it was gouging. And I felt the edge of my boot scraping the tarmac with it.

Suddenly sweating and my eyes big, I kept that throttle grip steady and waited until I saw I could safely upright the bike in a straight line. As I approached the main arterial my heart was pounding: “Holy Crap!!”

As I rode I noticed the sky was getting increasingly dark; I moaned to myself: more showers rolling in. I rode about 30 miles or so and pulled off an exit to get gas. After filling my tank and now feeling fully awake, I noticed the lack of light.

Wait.

What time is it?

I looked at the clock on the bike and saw that it was 8:00. It was then I realized that is was 8:00 pm…….not am.

Feeling quite stupid, I realized I was more disoriented that I thought. I had woken at 6:30 pm, thinking it was in the morning. And left.

There was no turning back now; I had no choice but to continue on. So I rode on for several miles and realized I needed some coffee in me. I was not going to make it through riding a night on the road without caffeine in me.

There was a Flying J up ahead at the next exit. I pulled into the station, backed the bike into a spot in front of the store and contemplated what to do next. I walked in and asked if there was a Western Union there. No, but there was one at the Pilot the next exit down. I must have looked desperate: they gave me a tall coffee with two refills.

I sat on the sidewalk behind Whee, sipping on coffee and turned on my cell phone. There was a message from Bill: “Call me when you get this.”

I called and told him that the Pilot stations had Western Union, which he had already discovered during an Internet search. Over the next half hour we set up a money transfer at the Pilot station in Dickson, TN.

He wondered what I was doing on the road at that time of night and I confessed my earlier brain fart. I had to laugh along with him at that, but I knew I could not ride the whole night through. He suggested a few places along the way to pull off and camp. It was then that I confessed that for the first time ever on a road trip, all I wanted to do was go home. Like Dorothy, all I wanted to do was click my riding boot heels and go home. This trip had lost all its heart.

By the time I was on the road again heading to the Pilot station, some calm had returned to me. But there was still a sense of foreboding. And with good reason.

Barely five miles back on the highway, a deer jumped onto the tarmac in front of me. With quick reflexes, I applied both rear and front brakes gently but firmly to avoid locking the wheels at 70 mph, and readied myself for a crash into furry warm body.

In spaces between split seconds, I watched as the deer’s eyes got big and its hooves scattered on the mist-covered tarmac. I saw the white flag of its rear end just at the corner of my left vision as it miraculously skid past in front of me and to the other side of the highway.

Thankfully there was no other vehicle close behind me, but I heard and saw in my mirror the car behind me apply the brakes and veer into the lane on my left to avoid hitting me.

That was a close call. I knew then I needed to get off the highway. My nerves were shot.
 
Riding Under a Bad Sign

I pulled into the Pilot station and approached the counter asking about Western Union.

“Well, yes, we have it here, but the machine ain’t working.”


It was as if a dark cloud just opened up and dumped all that bad mojo on me. And it continued to rain.

“No, please don’t tell me that…..”

“Sorry, honey. There’s a Western Union down the street at Seavy’s, but they’re closed. I think there’s one at Walmart, too. Let me call for you.”

She called Walmart and customer service closed at 10 pm.

“Honey, you’re in Dickson. Life ceases here at 9 pm.”

That was it. I felt like I was going to break. All I could do was mutter, “I just want to go home……”

I didn’t have enough gas or money to make it home and Bill had wired the money here. So I had no recourse but to stay until one of the stores with a Western Union opened at 7 am. It was 10:30 pm.

It was going to be a very, very long night.

“Honey, I have a Suburban outside. Why don’t you park your bike next to that and crawl into the back and try to get some sleep. Are you hungry?”

I had no appetite. I just knew I was stranded. Here. In Small Town, Tennessee.

I graciously accepted her offer to catch some sleep in her Suburban, parked the bike next to it, transferred valuables into the back seat with me, and curled up to try and sleep. Which was near impossible with all the noise and lights. I dozed off and on in between voices, slamming doors, and rain pattering on the roof. I jumped out of the vehicle to retrieve the tank bag, helmet, and pulled off the sheepskin pad. I used that as a pillow.

I barely remember waking and sauntering into the store in stocking feet to find the bathroom. I couldn’t open my eyes in the glaring light and must have looked a sight with my over pants halfway unzipped and a squinting sleepy face. I felt like a little kid in a strange house.

I was woken at 5 am since the woman left her shift at 6 am. She gave me a big cup of coffee and told me I could hang out there anywhere until 7 am and the store with the Western Union opened. I thanked her profusely. Several times.

So I spent the next two hours looking and feeling lost, but glad it was morning.

Shortly before 7 am, I rode in the direction I was pointed, looking for the store. I couldn’t find it. Remembering the directions for Walmart, I rode further down and pulled into their parking lot.

Walking inside, I was told that their money center didn’t have Western Union. But that the local K-mart and Kroger did. Getting directions, I rode several miles to the K-mart and saw on the door that it didn’t open until 8 am.

Frustration was beginning to eat at me again, so I asked a person in the parking lot for directions to the Kroger. Pulling into the parking lot, I saw the comforting sign of Western Union on the wall by the door. I walked into the Kroger and asked where it was and was directed to the customer service counter. And told it didn’t open until 8 am. I had another 50 minutes.

By now, I wore exasperation all over me. I sauntered over to the counter, leaned my head against the wall and closed my eyes to rest. A woman behind the counter was equipping all the registers with money drawers and after half an hour asked me what I needed.

I told her a money transfer wired to me at the Pilot station near the highway, but their machine was down. And that I spent the night there waiting for another place with a Western Union to open.

She was kind enough to process the transfer at 7:45 and I now had enough cash to make it home. With a huge sense of relief, I started the bike, filled it with gas and I was on my way.

Home.

By that time, my only thought and intent was to ride the highway home. This trip had lost heart a long time ago. It lacked the usual motivation and enjoyment that I always have when I’m on the road and on a journey. But this time, I wasn’t even sure this one was worth the rubber off my tires.

I rode and stopped only to fill the tank with gas. Just east of Memphis the sky opened up and I rode through the city in a deluge. Luckily it was past rush hour and traffic wasn’t too bad, but I kept a safe speed and distance aware of the slick road conditions and reduced visibility. Although I avoided getting too wet, the temperature was warm enough that the dampness didn’t bother me.

Just east of Little Rock, Arkansas, the Road Warrior surfaced and I decided I was not stopping. I was going to ride straight through.

To home.
 
WOW!!!, you have to look at it this way, this will be a motorcycle trip to remember for the rest of a lifetime. And although it seems bad right away, this is exactly the thing that you will look back on in a year or two and giggle. I know this because I've had a couple trips where all I wanted to do was get home.

I can't say it enough, I'm glad you made it home safe and sound. That is really all that matters!!!!:mrgreen:
 
My Plutonium Butt Ride

On the road and deciding I was riding the rest of the way home, stopping only to fuel up, it occurred to me that this was going to be an unofficial Iron Butt Ride.

Iron…….. why iron? Such a ubiquitous metal that sits like a stone. Most stones have iron in them. This was not a common ride, nor do I ride like an iron stone.

Now, plutonium is a radioactive metallic chemical with a half-life of 24 thousand to 80 million years. That seemed more appropriate: this run was decided upon less than halfway home and this trip was going to be remembered for 80 million years. Or until I’m gone, whichever comes first.

Plutonium is often referred to as the ‘most complex metal’. Since this was a trip full of complications and complexities, it seem even more appropriate.

So, while moving around on my bike’s seat trying to get comfortable (more my left leg and ankle than anything else), I laughingly decided to dub this return trip home: my Plutonium Butt Ride.

Except for a brief stop at an Iron Skillet to inhale a terrible BLT sandwich (I hate white bread and the lettuce was soggier than the bacon was greasy), I fueled only Whee’s gas tank and pointed Whee for home.

Now riding a bit more aggressively with an average speed of 70-75 mph, we sailed home feeling more confident and spirited. Riding through Rockwall at the tail end of rush hour, I was grinning and we hit Dallas at 6:00 pm. I pulled into my gravel drive with 1140.1 miles at 7:45 pm.

Although I left the cabin the night before (or was it that morning?........ ;) shortly after 7 pm, I allowed myself some slack for stopping to chat with Bill on the phone, catching some needed Z’s in a Suburban parked at a truck stop, and searching for the elusive Western Union in Dickson, Tennessee.

Pulling up on the gravel at home, I turned off Whee’s engine and sat on the bike for a moment. Actually, I wasn’t sure if I could get off. My left calf was sore, my bad left ankle now throbbing, and my hip flexors seized up. I slowly and carefully eased myself off the bike, pulled the liners out of my side bags and let myself in the house. I left the rest of the bike loaded.

It was good to be home.
 
I can't say it enough, I'm glad you made it home safe and sound. That is really all that matters!!!!:mrgreen:
Yes, you're right. And I owe a lot to you. For the loan and the encouragement to go on. Thanks for being a friend.

I had some hard lessons on this trip, but that's what life is, right? ;-)
(eating humble pie.....)

And now I know what my endurance level is on the road, as well as what I need to make it more comfortable (highway pegs, something for the throttle, and ear plugs). I'd like to give the Madstat a try, too.

Saying all that, tomorrow I need to get back on the horse and go for a day ride to restore heart: inside me, in my bike and in the road.
When you fall of a horse, you get back on and try it again. Well, not to Tennessee, though....... :mrgreen:

Hey, you two have a good and safe ride this weekend. I'll contact you after your return to reimburse you.

Ride on! :rider:
 
Awesome writeup, and an adventure to remember for ever... even if you don't want to. It's good to have GREAT friends :clap:
 
Awesome writeup, and an adventure to remember for ever... even if you don't want to. It's good to have GREAT friends :clap:
Yes, it is. Indeedy.

Oh, I'll remember this trip. I'd even like to return to that area to ride it, there were some great roads, and the cabin was really wonderful.

maybe later in another lifetime...... :trust:
 
Just my two cents, but your ears should NOT be ringing if you used good quality ear plugs (or custom ones) and have an effective wind protection set-up such as a windshield that does not buffett nor howl with various speeds.
yes, I need to find earplugs that fit. Most of them pop out and hurt my ears. I left home without any.

The Madstat is on my list. Reducing the helmet buffeting would be....... so nice.
My windshield doesn't howl; my helmet does.
 
FWIW... the elcheapo foam Walgreens earplugs aren't to shabby in a pinch :trust:
 
Wow, sounds rough. A few years from now you will be telling the tale like a war story around a table of fellow bikers. "I remember when I rode to Tennessee....."
I am off on Friday. Holler if you want to get out on the bike and meet up.
Glad your back in one piece.
Janet
 
Like they say..."It's not and adventure until something goes wrong". On the bright side, you have a crystal clear understanding about who you can trust. I learned that one the hard way long ago.
 
On the bright side, you have a crystal clear understanding about who you can trust. I learned that one the hard way long ago.
I learned it both ways on this trip: whom I can't and can trust.

BTW, I have to be in Austin (Leander) some weekend early next month, albeit in the truck. Was wondering if you might have time for lunch (or some classification of eating at any time of the
day :) ).
 
I learned it both ways on this trip: whom I can't and can trust.

BTW, I have to be in Austin (Leander) some weekend early next month, albeit in the truck. Was wondering if you might have time for lunch (or some classification of eating at any time of the
day :) ).

Let me know when!
 
Nice report, even if the trip was less the wonderful.
Glad your back in one piece :clap:

you coulda called this your Long Way Home ride ;)
 
I am off on Friday. Holler if you want to get out on the bike and meet up.
I need to change my oil and filter. I have everything but one quart of oil.
But I also have had this vision of ice cream dancing around in my head for DAYS!!!!

So I'm getting ready to ride into town (Richland Hills) to get a quart of oil and search for an ice cream.
Let me know if you want to meet up somewhere.
 
I too am glad you are home safe, and thank-you for sharing your story.

FWIW, I've had great success with the Howard-Leight orange foam 'bullet' type earplugs. I now buy them by the large box/case, use them a few times and replace. The wind noise can be a problem even on short trips.
 
Hope you got your ice cream fix. I got called out this morning at 9 so had to go in to work a scene and I just got back home. Maybe next time. I am going to head to the pie run tomorrow if your interested.

Janet
 
Hope you got your ice cream fix. I got called out this morning at 9. Just got back home. Maybe next time. I am going to head to the pie run tomorrow if your interested.
there's a pie run tomorrow???......

I just unfinished unpacking :mrgreen:
Was getting ready to leave (washing the grease off my hands) when I thought I'd check email and saw this.
 
I too am glad you are home safe, and thank-you for sharing your story.

FWIW, I've had great success with the Howard-Leight orange foam 'bullet' type earplugs. I now buy them by the large box/case, use them a few times and replace. The wind noise can be a problem even on short trips.

+1 I buy them from Alamo Iron Works.
 
It's trips like that that tell you who your friends are, and teach you what gear and such are good and what ya really need to have.

I used to use Hearos brand plugs, best I've tried if you can find em. Then I got some of those custom molded ones poured in my ears and haven't bought another earplug since.
 
The ones I buy are Howard Leight MAX 33db, uncorded, orange.

PM me with your addy and I'll drop a few pairs for you to try.
Thanks!
I picked up a cheapo pair of green ones today and they were frustrating: falling out of my ears, getting wedged in between helmet lining and ear......
Oiy.
 
I'm glad you made it back safely. Thank you for sharing the story of your adventure with us. You've done a wonderful job of storytelling, I feel as if I were there with you. As I found during my military service, the hard times make for the best stories later and that friends, loyal and true, are priceless.
 
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