For some reason, Andy Simon – well, actually he goes by Andy Simons, but I took an S from him for passing a gas Stop at Tacna, AZ on the return leg. When he remembers to Stop for gas Stops, he can have the S back. As I was saying, Andy Simon . . . okay, okay, I’ll relent, . . . he can have the cottonpickin’ S back. Enough, already. Anyway, Andy Simons also had been looking at the 100CCC. Ah, now there were two.

We conversed by e-mail over some period of time, then did a preparatory SS2K together last Fall. It went so well that we started preparing for the 100CCC.

I had all kinds of plans, some of which worked; others didn’t. I farkled my 2001 Mandarin Yellow BMW R1150GS to death. Moreover, I left enough farkles behind to equip several more bikes. A man can never have too many farkles, gadgets or tools.

Nearing the time for our departure, Ben Askew of Texas asked whether he could join in. We readily agreed, and now there were three (which Andy immediately named Los Tres Amigos, probably in recognition of Ben’s affinity for our brethren from South of the Border); otherwise, we would have been only the 2 Riding Companions, and there’s no chime to that. Los Tres Amigos it was.

I started equipping my GS for the ride. Let’s see: dealer servicing, StreetPilot III, new Tourances, a Rocky Mayer seat, a backrest, luggage rack, BarBaks, a Wunderlich windshield, a Stormscope . . . oops, the StormScope is for my airplane, not my bike. Got ‘em all; check. Where was I? Farkles. Jesse Odysseys? Lowered pegs? 2 sets of PIAAs? Garmin GPS V? Extra auxiliary electrical plug? Touratech 41 liter fuel tank? HiperLites? Nah, don’t need ‘em. Already got all of those. Butt what do I do with the Valentine 1, CB, stereo music source, etc. Well, something’s gotta stay home. I’m gonna travel light. ;-)

Of course, for a trip like this, it is necessary to have a checklist so nothing gets left behind. I merged Andy’s and Ben’s checklists, added some things, and checked and rechecked it as I loaded the bike. As a pilot, I know the value of a checklist, and man did I have a checklist. I would not leave anything behind, that’s for sure, dang sure.

Each of us had to rack some miles before the 100CCC in order to obtain the necessary mileage for our SS5Ks. Andy would ride from Columbia, SC, but Ben and I would have longer rides if we started in our hometowns. Instead, we decided to position our starts closer to Jacksonville Beach. So on Saturday, May 18, 2002, Ben left Houston for Pascagoula, MS and I left Tuscaloosa, AL on a leisurely ride to Montgomery, AL. These would be our respective starting points. Ray Fagan (IBA) of Pascagoula, MS would sign Ben out on Sunday morning, and Walter Baggett (IBA) of Millport, AL would take care of my witnessing needs in Montgomery.

Of course, by the time Walter signed my papers, I had discovered that I left my gas credit cards on a workbench in my hangar some 100 miles back up the road. For the trip, I had bought a new card wallet, installed a safety cord so that I could attach it to the bike, added it to my checklist, and promptly left the dangnabbed thing laying on the workbench. Great, just great. Now I had to borrow Sue’s gas cards. Sue, my wife, was following in her Z-28 Camaro. She would stay in Neptune Beach while we made the Big Ride. She loves beaches and coastal towns. Ahh, peace at home and it’s only costing me a small fortune for the beachfront room in Neptune Beach.Ever have to mention to your significant other that you made a mistake? Thankfully, Sue didn’t rub it in, butt I could see it in her eyes . . . she sure wanted to do exactly that; butt she couldn’t; I had that beachfront room reserved for her, and I did have my VISA card with me. For her, prudence dictated no castigation. She’s no dummy; she didn’t say a word. Oh well, things will improve.

I love it when a plan comes together. As planned, Ben and I met at the intersection of US 231 and I-10 near Cottonwood, FL. We arrived within minutes of each other. After our rendevous, we bought gas in the Chevron station, ate a burger and headed for Jacksonville, FL. When we arrived in Jacksonville Beach, Andy was waiting on the motel balcony. Have I noted that I love it when a plan comes together? After check-ins, our 100CCC witnesses arrived for the paper party. Steve Hunter (IBA) [who is now on a little ride of his own: Key West to Prudhoe Bay, I believe] and Mike Vincent (IBA) checked our bikes and paperwork, then signed us out for the Big One. We then went to dinner together. Dinner went way to quickly, but it was beddie-bye time for Los Tres Amigos.

We had some demanding days ahead of us.Many people mention having problems sleeping before a big ride. I had no problem. After dinner, I went to sleep straightaway. Well, I did make it back to the motel first. Butt it wasn’t long before the hotel wakeup call and my Screaming Meanie did their duty. I left for the motel where dos amigos were staying. When I arrived, they were ready to pull out, so we rode to the Chevron station at A1A and US 90 for our initial fillup. 05:40 EDT, 0 miles.

After buying gas, Andy announced that I would lead across the Florida panhandle. Okay, here we go! South on A1A, hit the 202, over to I-95, north to I-10, westbound on I_10 back to the US 231 exit at Cottondale, FL. This time, though, Andy steered into the Amoco station instead of the Chevron station across the road. 08:14 CDT, 254 miles, 6.5 gallons.

Our next stop was New Hope, MS. I led across Alabama but it was a no-brainer. A tow truck pulling a disabled car passed us just after we entered Alabama. He was headed west and so were we. Soooo, follow that truck. Andy and Ben have recounted how quickly we rode across Alabama, butt it was simply a matter of following the tow truck, keeping the throttle set on highway speeds, and staying the course. As they noted, I was most concerned that they not violate the speed limit in Alabama. Besides, there is no reason to speed across Alabama. It just ain’t that far across the state on I-10. Further north, and we would have had to pick it up a mite, butt not on I-10. Just follow the tow-truck.

Our gas stop in Mississippi was short and business-like. 11:36 CDT, 497 miles, 6.2 gallons. We left for Sulphur, Louisiana. I couldn’t wait; I still remember the smell of sulphur from 11th grade chemistry. Ahh, I love the smell of rotten eggs early in the morning . . . uhh, mid-afternoon? You may have heard that Louisiana roads are the worse in the U.S. I don’t know about that. I’ve driven or ridden all 50 states, and there is competition out there, but suffice it to say that I-10 in eastern Louisiana isn’t too bad; I-12 routing around New Orleans goes fairly quickly and reasonably smoothly for most of the way, butt I-10 in western Louisiana is the pits, literally. Don’t hold your mouth slightly open; hitting the holes and dips will surely cause you to chip your teeth or bite your tongue. Of course, the long range of the GS’s shocks worked wonders for me. I just glided over the big ones, but Andy observed that western Louisiana deserved its reputation for road roughness. We filled the tanks in Sulphur and departed for Ben’s home state of Texas. 15:36 CDT, 756 miles, 5.8 gallons.

We were nearing the part where Ben’s presence would really pay off. Ben had connoitered the HOV (high occupancy vehicle) lanes in Houston. I had read one 50CC report wherein the rider complained of being stopped in Houston traffic while the HOV vehicles passed him. We turned that around. Ben led through Houston, including making the HOV lanes on both the east and westbound runs. We watched traffic on the interstate crawl or simply sit still while we rode by at 60 mph. Piece of cake. Ben earned his spurs and our gratitude, but San Antonio was still ahead. We stopped for gas in Waelder, TX. 21:36 CDT, 1008 miles (hey, a Saddlesore 1000), 6.2 gallons. We left for San Antonio.

I had read that TX64 was a good route to take in bypassing San Antonio, butt Ben had another suggestion. TX 1604 was his choice. We made the 1604 turnoff after sundown, so the first few miles on the 1604 was a mite interesting. The road was rough, two-laned, and heavily traveled. Butt after only a couple of miles the road opened up to four lanes and speeds picked up. We cleared San Antonio rather easily. Ben was right; the 1604 saved us a lot of time. Junction, TX would be our over-night stopping point.

Between San Antonio and Junction, Ben led the group. At one point, I noticed that his brake light was sending signals like a semaphore. I immediately checked my GPSes for speed and monitored my speed carefully while looking for the boys. There weren’t any, and I kept falling further behind my two partners so I finally picked up the pace a bit and caught them. Later, Ben told me that he was signaling the presence of deer . . . lots of deer. Butt I was not burning my brights (2 sets, mind you) because they would blind my two partners. So I never saw the deer. Good thing that you can’t hit what you can’t see. Where’s my deer whistles when I need them? (I don’t own any, butt this oughta start a whole new thread on the efficacy of deer whistles. I can’t wait.) Anyway, we made Junction in one piece.

Ben had arranged for our motel rooms in Junction. Now don’t get me wrong. Ben’s a great riding companion. He was invaluable while leading us across Texas, through Houston and around San Antonio. Butt selecting motels just ain’t Ben’s strong point. I didn’t see the vista at the LaVista Motel, and I’m glad.

The next morning I needed to check my oil level in the sight gauge. Where’s my flashlight? Oh yeah, on the workbench in my hangar. Did I mention that I used a checklist? Okay, borrow Andy’s and dare him to say a word. We filled our tanks across the street. 05:07 CDT, 1201 miles, 4.7 gallons. Ft. Stockton was next. I had read about winds in New Mexico, Arizona and in the mountains of California, but no one had mentioned the winds between Junction and Ft. Stockton. Please allow me to mention them. Argggh, . . . I hate wind. Air, fine . . . wind, no way. And this was strong winds with gusts . . . lots of gusts. Did I mention that I don’t like wind? We filled the tanks at Ft. Stockton while I told Ben what I thought about the wind and he told me that we would see more of Mr. Wind. 07:48 CDT, 1402 miles, 5 gallons.

We left Ft. Stockton, TX for El Paso. 257 miles GPS. No problem. I had a full tank and felt good. We were making good time and I had a sense of achievement when we came to the junction of I-10 and I-20. I had driven I-10 from El Paso to I-20, then I-20 to Tuscaloosa once before, so I was in familiar territory and the intersection evidenced progress. It’s 890 miles across Texas on I-10, so any milestone was welcome.

Somewhere just east of El Paso, after the I-10 / I-20 junction, I almost became the Steel Strap rider. A trucker informed Ben that some steel loading straps were in the road about three miles ahead. Obviously these were not country miles. Even before Ben could pass the word, we arrived at the straps. Ben was in the right lane and I was in the left lane, following a car. The car hit a strap and threw it back towards me. Luckily, it only hit the sole of my right boot as I held it up to block the impending blow. Someone’s going to think why not just avoid the strap. Not enought time or distance. I was confronted with a 10-foot long strap with only a split-second’s warning while traveling at, uhhhhh, highway speed. A Crazy-Ivan might have looked cool, butt I still would have eaten strap. I hesitate to think what might have happened had the strap entered the spokes of my rear (or front for that matter) wheel. Bummer, butt all’s well that end’s well.

Arriving in El Paso, I was quite unprepared for the ensuing events. We pulled into a truck stop. People gathered like flies to gawk at the bikes and ask questions. In the commotion, someone stole my best pair of summer riding gloves. They were perfect for me and costly too. Gone though, in a heartbeat. Butt they didn’t get my helmet or riding jacket. Lucky me. I refueled, refilled the ice in my water container, gave the remainder to Andy and Ben, purchased a lip balm, and declared myself ready to go as soon as I visited the men’s room. Andy reported that we were only riding to Los Cruces, NM (43 miles) for an unscheduled food stop. Fine with me. He suggested that I wait for the restroom stop. Fine, what’s 45 minutes, more or less? I’m not challenged in that regard. 10:45 MDT, 1656 miles, 6.5 gallons and one pair of gloves.

If I expected odorous air in the vicinity of Sulphur, LA, I left El Paso without a clue. Ever smell feed lots? Between El Paso and Las Cruces, they have some doozies. You can smell ‘em coming miles before you see them. Spare me, please. Now I pray for wind . . . from the east please; the feed lots are on the west side of I-10. Naturally, there’s no wind, just odor, lots and lots of odor.

Naturally, we didn’t stop at Las Cruces. It may have had something to do with feed lots. Fact is, I don’t know. Butt this may have been a forewarning of Andy’s propensity to pass by Stops. Whatever. We pressed on to Benson, AZ. Let’s see . . . it’s 508 miles, or about 8 hours, from Ft. Stockton, TX to Benson, AZ, and I did it without a bathroom break, while sipping ice water the entire way. I am hoping the IBA will recognize a new award, the Iron Bladder. Thanks Andy; you may have put me in the record books. Joe Colquitt, the first Iron Bladder finisher. North of Las Cruces, we hit gale force winds (to me, at least). They were blowing from the right directly across the highway. I could handle the wind, butt the gusts were a major problem. When they hit me, I received double blasts. The only thing I could figure was that the fuel in my heavily laden, butt not full, tank was sloshing each time I was hit by a gust. When the gusts subsided, I handled the winds, butt when the gusts returned I had to work at keeping myself on the pavement; forget the lanes. Andy and Ben were getting blasted too, but they were dealing with it better than I was, soooo . . . there go Los Dos Amigos. I spent the next 50-80 miles looking in each exit area for my compadres which probably worked to my advantage because although I didn’t find them, I did locate several New Mexico state troopers who looked like they were anxious to talk with somebody, anybody. Finally, I rejoined the group; they were sitting on the side of the road and pulled in behind me a few miles east of Benson, AZ. Fuel, food and a restroom break at Benson, AZ. 13:45 MDT, 1910 miles, 7.2 gallons.

Did I mention wind? From Las Cruces, NM to near Benson, AZ, we encountered horrendous winds. The wind was blowing strong from the east. Of course, we were long past the feed lots and no longer needed fresh air, but wind and sand we got. Someone said the winds were blowing at 28 knots, but I tell you that 28 knots doesn’t begin the describe the winds we encountered, and that doesn’t include the gusts. Ron named one of his books Against the Wind. This part of our ride truly was against the wind. We all rode with severe lists into the wind; we leaned against the wind and tried to stay on the pavement (except when Ben left the pavement for, uhhh, okay, I’ll drop it; he did).

Although I didn’t stop for a, uhhh . . . rest break (# 1) from Ft. Stockton, TX to Benson, AZ, Ben did somewhere past Tucson, AZ. He says it occurred on I-8, but I had thought it was on I-10. Whatever; the facts remain the same. In the middle of nothing but mesquite bushes, very, very small mesquite bushes, Ben’s system screamed Stop (that’s Stop with an S, Andy) for a #2. He did. We didn’t wait for the show; at his suggestion, we gladly moved on; Ben caught us miles later. I still chuckle when I think of a bright yellow GoldWing 1800 sitting on the side of the slab, and a rider in a bright red ‘stitch squatting behind a 2-foot high mesquite bush. Now, I wasn’t going to mention this event, . . . after all, I am a gentleman. Butt Ben has already mentioned the episode on his website. Moreover, he made some scandalous comment on LDRider about he and Andy having to carry me through this ride. Better that he carry toilet paper and let me fend for myself. ;-)

Riding on I-8 was much easier than I-10 north of Tucson. Everyone seemed to be headed north out of Tucson, and the city itself covers a number of miles. Contrast the urban sprawl and heavy traffic with I-8; nothing’s out there. I mean . . . Gila Bend, Dateland and Tacna, AZ, aren’t exactly big towns and they’re off the road a bit. I increased the detail on my StreetPilot III GPS unit and it showed a line (I-8), two boulders and a jackrabbit. When I asked for info on Tacna, our next fuel stop, the GPS answered “Are you kidding?” Tacna looked like something that might exist 2 miles south of Chernobyl. Nevertheless, we stopped in downtown Chernobyl. I made sure that I went to the bathroom. San Diego was still a few miles away. 17:28 MDT, 2153 miles, 6.4 gallons.

Andy mentioned that he had read (and I remembered that I had too) that it might get cool in the mountains before we reached San Diego. I zipped up my riding jacket but didn’t bother to add anything. After all, we still had Arizona desert and Yuma before us. I had seen some western movies and I knew that it would not be cold between Tacna and Yuma. We were elated as we left Tacna . . . for two reasons: First, we were leaving Tacna, and second, San Diego was our next stop. Yuma came and went and we headed into California. One of my good friends is from the Imperial Valley, El Centro, CA, to be exact. I now know why he’s from El Centro. I’m not sure why the rest of the population are still there though. In fact, Los Tres Amigos seemed unanimous in our opinion that there are several, maybe more than several, places out in the far southwest that are over-populated. Oh, only a few people might live there, butt given the conditions and the options, sometimes you gotta know when to fold ‘em.

There were 6 things that I’ll remember from our ride through this area:

First, working in INS must be a real bummer. Ever sit on a sand dune watching for movement? I saw more white Blazers sitting out there pointing towards Mexico. I could imagine the radio traffic: See anything? Nope, you? Naw. What time is it? Dunno; see anything? In addition to the Blazers, there were lots of small block buildings with slits along the sides sitting out in the sand. Ben said they were microwave shacks which detected movement. I figured they were station houses for INS agents to use in watching the border without letting people know which ones were occupied. My alternative idea was they were outhouses, something Ben might have been interested in knowing.

Second, there are sand dunes . . . real sand dunes . . . out there. Cool.

Third, there’s a rock canyon with many, many round boulders stacked like cordwood. I took two pictures, butt they got misplaced along the run. They’ll probably show up on my workbench.

Fourth, just because it’s hot in the desert doesn’t mean that it’ll be hot in the mountains.

Fifth, the wind blows all the time, except when you’re prepared for it or when you’re praying for it to blow away the smell from the feed lots.

Sixth, if you gotta go, you gotta know the limbo. Ask Ben. There are no trees to squat behind.

Andy and Ben hit the mountains with joy in their hearts. I hit the cold air blasts with dread. They were out front, so naturally I wasn’t going to Stop and put on Widder’s or even another shirt. My summer gloves would have to do despite the fact that I had two sets of winter gloves (one pair heated Widder’s) and a pair of lined summer gloves in my Jesses. My unlined jacket would have to do despite the fact that I had a GoreTex liner and a quilted liner for the jacket in my Jesses. So, I’m stubborn. Press on, I did. The winds, again, were terrible. I was kicked around by them at every turn. And it’s 63 miles through those mountains, in the dark, cold and stormy . . . (well, maybe not stormy, butt I’m a Snoopy fan). Eventually I reached the crest and was pleased to learn that the glaciers had melted away. I came out of the mountains cold butt happy. I could see lights below me. People, heat . . . it doesn’t get much better than this. (Yes, it does, butt . . .).

I saw Andy and Ben alongside the road. Man, was I glad to see that they had pulled over. For the last 60 miles or so, I had been trying to remember where we were supposed to go in San Diego to meet our witnesses. I couldn’t remember the contact information, the name of our motel, or anything else useful. Of course, I had made a written memo of all essential information of this nature, but it was laying with my checklist on my workbench . . . Well, you know the rest of that story.

As Andy and Ben saw my bike coming, they pulled out and joined up. I motioned for Andy to take the lead. No reason to mention to them that I didn’t know anything beyond the fact that we needed to Stop just short of the ocean. Somewhere in this run into the city proper, one of San Diego’s finest, on a motorcycle, came by me like I was standing still. I wasn’t, and neither was he. Man, he was in a hurry. I’m sure he felt that the small flashing blue light on his rear fender would fend off the congestion of cages going in every direction. I hope this guy gets transferred to vice. He won’t make it in the motor division.

We reached Ocean Beach . . . oh, yeah, I think I remember that now. Sure enough, per plans, at the end of the main drag in Ocean Beach Lou Caspary (IBA) and Kyoko Caspary were waiving flashlights next to his BMW 7-zillion something. What a car. I used to have a 525, butt this one was in a different league. Lou and Kyoko did the honors witnessing our successful arrival in San Diego. Then we grouped for photos and went onto the beach to collect samples. Andy had threatened throughout the planning stages to leave samples at both ends, butt if he did, I didn’t see it. It was dark outside. We left Ocean Beach for dinner, then to the Motel 6 for rest. Motel 6? I think I had that on my essential-information page too.

And that, my friends, is how Los Tres Amigos successfully did a 50CC. Butt we still had to get home, and that is another story.

The significance of the preceding two days and the satisfaction of successfully reaching Quakeland didn’t hit until the next morning . . . if you can call 04:30 PDT morning. Looked more like night to me as we gathered in the parking lot for “the ride home.” Off to Chevron for gas. At the gas station, I reminded Los Dos Amigos of the difficulty I had with high winds and an almost-full fuel tank. 05:42 PDT, 0 miles, 5.5 gallons. I announced that I had purchased only enough gas to make our next stop in lovely downtown Tacna, AZ. They both nodded. Communications are important on rides like this.

Half a mile, half a mile, half a mile onward Out of the San Diego valley Rode Los Tres Amigos Forward the Amigos Charge for the mountains, he said Into the mountains of Winds Rode the Amigos.

Okay, okay, . . . something got lost in the translation, butt into the mountains we went. Naturally, because I was prepared for winds, there were no dangnabbed winds. Calm as a pipe-smoking BMW camper; no wind at all. I hooked into the pack and did the twisties bit up and over and down into the valley on the other side.

Before reaching El Centro, Ben dropped alongside and asked if I needed fuel. I replied no, Tacna. He nodded. Communications are important on rides like this. Back through Yuma, and there’s Tacna to our north. I close up a mite in preparation for the exit. Andy and Ben blast right through. What?! I’m past the exit before I can recover, butt I need fuel so I, uhhh, would you believe, back up the on-ramp. Okay, I rode up the on-ramp and proceeded into Tacna for fuel. Los Dos Amigos will return, I’m sure. Tacna’s population had doubled since we, uhh I, was last here. There were four INS Blazers in from the dunes. I think I counted five agents. Yep, population doubled. 08:40 MST, 210 miles, 6.7 gallons.

I hit the road. Gotta catch Lost Dos Amigos. They had not returned. Ahh, a rabbit. I think it was a VW Rabbit; maybe not, butt about that size. I dropped in behind him and moved up to highway speeds. First exit past Tacna, I could see a service station way, way off to the north, butt I couldn’t see the yellow of Ben’s GoldWing or the red of Andy’s Voyager. I rode on. Approaching the second exit, I couldn’t see the service station from the exit point. This was Dateland, AZ, and I knew there was a station there, butt I didn’t need gas and if my compadres were there they would have placed a bike alongside the road to tip me. No bikes. I rode on. As I passed Dateland, I saw someone waving over in a parking lot quite removed from the highway. Well, if that was Ben or Andy, they’ll come on. I’m not going to repeat the New Mexico exit check. Moreover, Andy had told me a story about his dirtbike days. Seems they ran full out and then stopped to rest. As the last guy arrived, the group took off. First guy to arrive, long rest; last guy to arrive, no rest. Hey Andy, Ben, see you at Benson.

They caught me before Benson, butt they couldn’t decide who would pull alongside to announce their presence. Heck, I had seen them coming for miles. It was not like we were riding through a forest. Out there, anyone could even see a guy in a ‘stitch taking a potty break in an arroyo. Benson, AZ, 13:33 MST, 451 miles, 6.1 gallons.

I dreaded the next leg. On the way in, it had been mile after mile of wind gusts. Today, it was light breezes with a few dust devils. I’ve always heard people call them Whirling Dervishes. They’re sorta like a small tornado (and people from Alabama know tornados), butt quite unlike Whirling Dervishes. During early 2001, I rode across Turkey on an R1150GS and visited the homeplace of the real Whirling Dervishes. These dust devils were more akin to small tornados. Reading the signs in Arizona and New Mexico, e.g.: Warning. Strong winds possible next 15 miles, I decided that they could have saved lots of money by posting one sign at the state line announcing high winds for the next two states. Butt today was not a day of high winds. Thanks Goodness!

We had decided to Stop in Las Cruces, NM, and Andy even remembered to Stop. Oops . . . thinking back, I remember now that I pulled over to the side of the road and mentioned to Dos Amigos that I had been out of water for the last 100 miles, was thirsty, wasn’t going for another Iron Bladder Award, and then . . . only then, did Andy decide to Stop. Otherwise, I believe he would have tried for Louisiana. 16:20 MST, 673 miles, 5.2 gallons. Off we go for El Paso and points beyond. We had decided to refuel in Las Cruces so that I could return home with some of my gloves intact, so we proceeded through El Paso during the rush hour. . . . Why do people call traffic-jam time a rush hour? I don’t get it. We couldn’t rush; things were gosh awful. Butt we made it through finally.

Butt only to Ft. Stockton. Our plans called for Junction, TX as our rest stop after a quick refuel at Ft. Stockton. Unfortunately, there were humongous storms up north on the plains and those storms were sucking wind (literally) outta Texas. Eastbound on I-10, we had to once again list to the right to stay on pavement. Blow and gust; blow and gust. By the time we reached Ft. Stockton, I was praying for a vacuum and wondering why westerners didn’t use snow fences along the roads to block the winds. Arriving in Ft. Stockton, Ben asked about our plans. I announced that I was going to stop in Ft. Stockton and if I had to get up early to get back on schedule, so be it. No Junction for me. We were virtually in a hurricane. I actually was afraid that my bike would blow over while I was trying to put fuel in the tank. Los Dos Amigos decided that maybe I had a point, butt whatever . . . they opted to overnight in Ft. Stockton too. Of course, the big disappointment was that we would not have the opportunity to spend another night in Ben’s La Vista Motel in Junction. Instead, we would rough it in the Motel 6 at Ft. Stockton. 21:54 CDT, 962 miles, 6.7 gallons, and a room.

We had quite a discussion about the various options open to us in the parking lot. Do we park the bikes into the wind? Behind a van? On the leeward side of the building? Will our insurance cover a blow-over? I wanted to park my bike on the leeward side of the building, but Andy and Ben had already parked theirs in the back lot so that they could see them from the rooms. Sooo, I parked mine on the leeward side of their bikes. ;-) 22:03 CDT, Motel 6, Ft. Stockton, TX.

At this point in the trip, I knew that it was over. We had a successful 50CC run, butt we were not going to make either the 100CCC or the SS5K. This wind would not stop, and things were getting a mite risky. Better to get a good rest and bow out gracefully. Andy announced that we would get a good rest, get up at something like 02:00, take a look, and if the wind was still blowing, go back to bed. Ben announced in his best experienced Texan voice that this wind was associated with some weather north of us and it would be dead calm by 02:00. I went to bed knowing it was over. Butt I felt at peace with it; I had made a good ride, done my part, and if Mr. Wind blew over any chance of a 100CCC, so be it. I could live with that. 02:00 CDT, Motel 6, Ft. Stockton, TX. Hello, Mr. Screaming Meanie; hello, Mr. Wind. Man, that stuff is howling. A quick look out the window calmed my fears; my bike, and the other two as well, were still upright. Everything else was blowing in the wind. And there’s Ben down there putting his stuff back on the bike. Dress and go, butt we told the lady in the office to leave the light on for us . . . we might be back. Jacksonville, FL, 1402 miles or so away, through a hurricane or two.

Pitch black dark, Texas hill country, bookoo deer (according to reports), and winds so strong that I was wrestling with them almost all the way to Junction. Thank goodness things that you cannot see cannot hurt you. Do not worry about the winds or the deer, Joe; ride the ride. And why does Ben keep tapping his brakes? Junction, TX, light winds. We Be Going!! 05:34, 1163 miles, 5.4 gallons. San Antonio is next, butt Ben is more concerned about making Houston before DOT closes the gates to the HOV lanes (11:00 CDT). We hit San Antonio during morning drive time (or . . . rush hour). Thank goodness for 1604. As we turned off I-10, I noted that traffic, heavy traffic, was coming to a virtual standstill just south of our turn. A quick run around the 1604 and we rejoined I-10 well east of San Antonio. Now the run was for Houston. Schulenburg, TX, 08:50 CDT, 1377 miles, 5.7 gallons.

We approached Houston early enough for our shot at the HOV lanes. Ben led us into the gate like the experienced Texan that he is. Once again, we found ourselves moving at a steady 60 mph while the cages and a few bikes on I-10 eastbound were barely moving and sometimes stopped. Out the east side of Houston and on to, gasp, Louisiana, home of the rutted roads, and this time also home to every Louisiana State Trooper and maybe a few from Arkansas too as well as a humongous traffic jam which I had to ride around on the shoulder of the road lest my oil-and-air cooled engine overheat. Or was that traffic jam in east Texas? Whatever; the troopers were in Louisiana. Welsh, LA, 13:12 CDT, 1638 miles, 6.5 gallons.

I think it was in Welsh that Ben spotted the Dairy Queen. Remember, Ben was riding a GoldWing and, . . . well . . . we stopped briefly in the DQ. Otherwise, Ben might have cried all the way to ‘Bama. A nice lady struck up a conversation with Ben. She loved his bike, butt he was busy with a burger or something, so she came over to our bikes. Andy and I were preparing for the next leg and she wanted to know things about our bikes. At one point she asked about gas mileage, and Andy reported that I got better gas mileage than he did. She asked, . . . honest . . . do you weigh more? I couldn’t help it . . . honest . . . so I said, just take a look, lady, or something like that. If you do not know Andy, he is proudly displayed on his website at: https://www.angelfire.com/extreme4/andy112652/index.html You can look at me, who Andy labeled Super Joe Colquitt, and Andy. I think you will get the idea. Butt Andy sputtered a bit. Sorry Andy. Do not forget your Stops.

After we hit I-12 at Baton Rouge, we lost the troopers. They were all on the western side of Louisiana, probably protecting their potholes and uneven pavement. Eastern Louisiana was left unprotected, so shortly we found ourselves in the Magnolia State. This time, as we moseyed across Mississippi, we stopped in Moss Point. 17:47 CDT, 1904 miles, 6.4 gallons, and we are off for Alabama.

This time, there was no wrecker pulling a car across Alabama. Instead, we came upon a big wreck. Some vehicles had become entangled in the westbound lanes and in the median was the roof of a huge camping trailer. The rest of the trailer was spread along the median for a ways; looked like it had slowly melted away until the roof was laying on the grass. Every Alabama trooper was there, soooo, we are off for Florida (at highway speeds only, Vasilli, highway speeds only).

Lloyd, FL, with 2 Ls and only one open station. 11:23 EDT, 2195 miles, 6.7 gallons. We refueled and discussed conditions. Andy kept looking into my eyes. He said it was because he wanted to verify that I was awake, butt I think he was still upset about that weight thing in the DQ. Heck, we are in Florida now Andy, and that was in Louisiana, 3 states back. Let it go. ;-) We agreed that we would take it easy, probably take a least one, maybe two, walkabout breaks, and Stop at the first sign of fatigue. We left and Ben took the lead like the experienced Texan that he is.

So much for taking it easy, stopping, or breaks. Only time I noticed anything other than pavement passing in the night was first, at Lake City when I realized that Lake City had a big police department and they were all on I-10 writing tickets to people who were curious about where is Lake City anyway. Answer: Well south of I-10. Second, the moon came out and I noted that it was overcast. The moon shown through and it cast light on the clouds in a way that made it appear that we were in a gigantic cathedral. Eerie, butt I can live with that. Then the moon disappeared, the night became dark, and I had the sensation that I was riding through a tunnel underneath overlapping tree branches from the sides of the interstate. Then, thinking this through, and knowing that such trees do not grow in Florida, I realized that the night was so dark that it gave the illusion of something being overhead while our headlights created a tunnel effect. Man, am I glad that I can almost smell Jacksonville. Of course, at this point we were so close that I probably could have smelled it if only they had some feed lots. Jacksonville Beach, FL. 01:59 EDT, 2364 miles, 1.7 gallons. SS5K mileage: 5130 miles.

I only bought enough gas to evidence my arrival. Because I would be staying with Sue on the beach for a couple of days, I didn’t see the need to load up the bike at this point. Just as I get the fuel in the tank, up rides Mike Vincent (IBA). Doesn’t this guy ever sleep? It is 2:00 in the morning and he is out looking for us so he can witness our forms. What a guy! We Be Done That! Over; kaput; done; fini.

Thanks to a lot of people, particularly: Ben Askew and Andy Simons, my riding partners. May they never miss a gas Stop again. Walter Baggett (IBA), SS5K start witness Mike Vincent (IBA), Steve Hunter (IBA), 100CCC start witnesses Lou (IBA) and Kyoko Caspary, 100CCC mid-point witnesses Mike Vincent, 100CCC, SS5K end witness Sue Colquitt, who enjoyed Newport Beach and Jacksonville Beach while I made the ride. She staked out some great restaurants for us to visit after my return. My treat, of course. Tom Boddet, who kept the lights on for us. I think. We kept going though. And many other people who answered questions, offered advice, turned the other cheek, or whatever to ensure that we made the ride.

It was a ride of a lifetime and I will be forever indebted to Lost Dos Amigos who . . . carried me for the whole trip. Now, I just gotta find a map of downtown Prudhoe Bay. It’s gotta be larger than Tacna. Any errors in this account are solely mine and have to do with the fact that I was being carried for the entire trip, or so Ben says. Butt what else could one expect of a cigar-smoking Texan? ;-)

Joe Colquitt Tuscaloosa, AL R1150GS