XC Run Day 5

West Texas has always been a contradiction for me. Some of my least favorite country, it breeds some of my most favorite people.

Post is a good example. Got started later than usual this morning. Had to wait for the saddlery  to open. Minor problem with the leather strings that attach it to the frame. Any of you that ride throw-overs know what I mean.

Anyway, the fellow that ran the place was a typical example of the breed. Came out took a look at things, allowed as how he might just have an idea, then proceeded to put a fix on it. Now I knew that when I asked: "How much I owe ye?", he was gonna say, "Aww, Heck -- nuthin'". He probably knew I'd ask and what he'd say. I did, he did. Just how things like that are done by those West Texas folks. They extend to each other and strangers (polite ones anyway, certain conventions must be observed) what one Texas writer called "tender mercies".

He sells spurs, too.

Reminded me that simple, small kindnesses are a good start to any day. For both parties.

Lots of hard used gear.

I had just fueled up, but the day was already getting hot, so I thought I'd just cruise on down to the next town and get something wet. I didn't even slow down for the next 200 miles.

Joni Mitchell, for my money, wrote some of the most poetic lines in North American music.

"The drone of flying engines
is a song
so wild and true
It'll scramble time
      and seasons
if it gets through to you.


And your life becomes
  a travelogue of
picturepostcard
charms..." 


Having made my living as a pilot a fair part of my life, I can attest to that. I can also attest to the fact that one could easily substitute motorcycle for flying. Not as poetic a word, but just as true. And she was referring to radial engines (is there anything better than the sound of a P&W R-985 at night -- when you can set the mixture by the color of the exhaust flame?) which are not very different at all from 'scoots.

Something primal, deeply felt, in that drone. Visceral and real.

Or, maybe my brains are just scrambled from all the years of roaring about in all the various types of strange contraptions we've come up with for getting from A to B.

Think I might still have my "Road Poet" head on from yesterday morning's ride. Not to worry, though, I'll not quote any of my own poetry. I ascribe to Robert Heineline's theorem; "Be wary of those who read their poetry in public -- they may have other nasty little habits."

Let's just say that I got into smokin' down the highway, blessing the Harley engineers for coming up with the counterbalanced "B" engine.

I had decided, today, to give my 64 year old skin and face a day off. Went with long sleeves and the 3/4 helmet with full face-shield.  Glad I did, though I may get a call from Al Gore or one of his minions. Do believe I halved the butterfly population of West Texas. Suffice it to say that when I stopped for fuel around Jonesboro, it took a lot of scrubbing with the bug remover to get to where I could see through that shield again. Woulda been like gettin' hit by shrapnel. No thanks, already been there. And as for hot -- when I asked some locals in one town what the temperature was they just looked at me and said: "Hot.".

So I roared through Abilene, and on into the Hill Country. Sure is purdy there. I had thought about running south to the Killeen area to see if I could hook up with some Brothers from that new Chapter there. Thought I'd make that decision in Temple. By the time I looked up, Temple was 10 miles in the mirrors. Ah..well. I was rollin'.

No idea what tomorrow will bring, but, then again, who does?

Talk to you tomorrow night, when we all do.