Some 3,126 miles later I arrived home already wondering when the next ride will begin. This ride was necessitated by a visit to Biketoberfest in Daytona Beach, Florida. And since the basic characteristics of a good ride do not include the most direct route, this one was no exception. It involved a 700-plus mile first day through central Louisiana, Mississippi and Alabama; a 400 mile second day down to central Florida where we “worked” for a few days; and finally a 150-mile run to Daytona Beach to experience an evening of Biketoberfest.
It required a run up the western portion of Georgia; a stretch across southern Tennessee before cutting down through northwestern Mississippi; catching a small portion of extreme southwest Arkansas; then hauling ass through the middle of Louisiana and back to Texas. While not the finest ride I’ve ever put together, it certainly qualified as a good one.
I started out early on a Saturday morning and met my riding partner, Jerry, in Crosby, Texas at 6:00 AM. We gassed up and headed out, but needed to make one quick stop at Jerry’s because he thought he forgot to lock his front door. After ensuring the security of his humble abode, we made tracks for Alabama. The planned route took us through southeastern Texas; crossing into Louisiana at Burr Ferry; through Alexandria and on to Natchez, Mississippi where we picked up US-84 all the way to Dothan, Alabama.
Southeastern Texas and western Louisiana were still showing the effects of Hurricane Rita. It was interesting to see where the eye of the storm crossed. You could tell because of the direction of the fallen trees. As we approached the areas hardest hit by the storm, the trees were uprooted and laying with the roots to the north and the tops to the south. As you progressed, the direction began to take on an east to west angle indicating this would have been where the eye crossed. Finally, once past the path of the eye, the trees fell in a south to north direction.
We made a stop at Renegade Harley-Davidson in Alexandria, Louisiana. I figured a Harley dealer with a name like “Renegade” must have some bad-ass tee shirts available. Apparently, we arrived just after a big sale. The t-shirt selection was sparse. Jerry managed to find one to his liking, but it was a wasted stop for me. Oh well, a .500 batting average in baseball would be considered exceptional.
I believe every love bug in the United States must come from the Catahoula National Wildlife Refuge northeast of Alexandria because we plastered the windshields, headlights, fenders, highway bars, pants legs, etc. with thousands of them. Strangely enough, once we passed through that area, the bug problem was non-existent. We still returned home with bugs from eight states caked to the bikes, but we never encountered another bug infestation the likes of Catahoula.
We picked up US-84 about 35 miles west of Natchez, Mississippi and it became our road of choice for the rest of the day. Crossing Mississippi was much like our run through Texas and western Louisiana, but this time it was Hurricane Katrina that left the calling card. As we approached Laurel, Mississippi, we again got a good idea of the power and path of the storm. The path of the fallen trees matched what we had seen earlier.
Typically, I would take state highways and small back roads, but we needed to make it to Dothan and I figured US-84 would help us make better time. Considering that I-10 was our alternative for a fast route, US-84 worked out just fine. Several stretches of 84 are four-lane and most of the two-lane sections usually have a passing lane every few miles.
We were cruising through a rural section in western Alabama. As we topped a hill, I saw a slow moving car ahead, but misjudged just how slow it was moving. As I got closer, I realized they weren’t moving at all, and I was running about 75 mph. I hit the brakes initially, but quickly grasped the notion that there was no way I was going to stop. So, instead, I twisted the throttle and began to pass to the left.
I already knew no one was approaching from the other direction, so passing the slower car should have been routine. Unfortunately, just as I got about two car lengths from him, I noticed his left turn signal flashing; uh-oh! I ripped the throttle to the stop, slid to the left side of the lane, and slipped just past his front bumper as he made his turn. I think he was totally oblivious of me until he heard and felt the roar of my pipes as I brushed past him.
I don’t know who it scared more; me or him. Actually, it really didn’t scare me much. I was committed to the left of him and I was either going to make it or not. There wasn’t any time to contemplate hitting him or getting hit by him. Afterwards, Jerry and I talked about it and neither of us ever saw brakes lights or a turn signal until we were right on him. It was in the afternoon and I can only guess that the angle of the sun made it impossible to see his taillights. Either way, I lived to see another day and put a few more miles under my butt.
The only other incident that day occurred about 45 minutes out of Dothan when some kid in a tiny, foreign, piece of shit car decided to honk, no make that “beep”, his horn at Jerry as we were leaving a traffic light. By that time we had been on the road about 16 hours and the last thing either of us was in the mood for was some pimple-faced kid being a smart ass.
After assuring him that if he ever beeped that pussy horn of his at a biker again, he’d hear that noise every time he farted, we were on our way.
I seem to plan my rides with Jerry around stops at Hooters. We’ve visited a bunch of Hooters all around the U.S. That was the reason for Dothan being our destination. It was the closest Hooters I could find on our route. For me, that wound up being a 750 mile ride; with Jerry pushing 700 miles. All those miles for a Hooters that wound up being lackluster.
I’m no super stud, but I don’t go around in tight little orange shorts and a tank top either. These girls needed to hit the gym, a lot! It seems Dothan grows ‘em a little sturdier than some of the other Hooters I’ve visited. Probably so’s they can help with the farmin’ and stuff. (I grew up in Alabama, so I can make fun of us if I want to.)
The second day of the ride we headed out of Dothan, still on US-84 to Bainbridge, Georgia. We made our way to Tallahassee by way of some back roads out of Bainbridge. Our ultimate goal was to get on US-19 in Drifton, Florida and take it south to Spring Hill, Florida. I know, if you look at a map, there was really no reason to go through Tallahassee. Ah, but that’s where you’re wrong. There’s a Hooters in Tallahassee and we arrived there at 11:30 AM, just in time for lunch; one would think.
As we entered the front door we were greeted with not the usual, “Welcome to Hooters”, but instead with, “We don’t open until noon, guys.” We were faced with a 30 minute wait or to continue down the road. We’ve been to this Hooters a few times and knew the girls would be cute, but 30 minutes of down time; no way! We were off again with what amounted to two failed Hooters attempts in less than 24 hours. This was getting depressing.
Our hotel reservations for the week were in Lakeland, Florida. This would give us easy access to our clients in Orlando and Bartow. But, our interim destination was Spring Hill. Why Spring Hill, you might ask?
We made great time on the ride down US-19 to Spring Hill. Since we had skipped lunch and Spring Hill was another 200 miles down the road from Tallahassee, we were more than ready for the next Hooters stop. I missed the Spring Hill Hooters initially. I think it was because I had some psycho woman in a mini-van trying to run me over at about the same time we passed it. So, it took us an extra 20 minutes to realize we missed it, turn around and make our way back. I couldn’t possibly screw up 3 Hooters stops in a row.
Yep! The girls were fine, but the food was awful. And, as luck would have it, our waitress’ boyfriend was there, so she couldn’t be bothered with a couple of grungy bikers. After some really bad wings, (I know, how can Hooters screw up wings?) pouring our own beer all through lunch, and enduring the Tampa Bay versus Miami game on TV (Spring Hill is only about 40 miles north of Tampa), we decided to make a run for our final destination.
I had us booked into a hotel that was walking distance to the Lakeland Hooters. We just had to walk through the McDonald’s parking lot and bodda-boom, bodda-bing, we were there. Great planning, if I do say so myself. But, as they say, “the best laid plans of mice and men”.
When we arrived at our hotel in Lakeland, we were informed that the hotel was experiencing difficulties with their high-speed internet access and that if we needed to use it, it worked best in the lobby. This wasn’t going to work for us because we both need internet access to effectively do our work and keep up with Bikernet, but we thought we’d give it a try. So we checked in and after a short break to clean up and relax a little, we made the hike over to Hooters.
We’ve strolled through the Lakeland Hooters doors several times before while working in the area. We knew we could count on them to redeem the Hooters experience. Unfortunately, it didn’t work out as well as we would have liked. Somehow we managed to get another inattentive waitress. The food was good, but the service left something to be desired. Just as we were about to give up on Hooters, we decided to pay our tab and go sit at the bar where the bartender seemed to be having a good time. That move saved the day. The bartender was excellent. She made sure everyone at the bar was having fun and provided great service. Our faith in Hooters was renewed.
We made an attempt to utilize the high-speed internet access at the hotel, but access proved to be shaky at best. I called and talked to the manager who asked us to give them a little more time to get things straightened out. The situation still hadn’t improved by 11:00 AM the next day, so we moved on.
The decision to move was a pain because we had shipped our business clothes to the hotel so we wouldn’t have to pack them on the bikes. Now we had to transfer hotels and lug all of that crap between the two. By the time we pulled out of the parking lot of the first hotel, we looked like a couple of gypsy bikers lugging everything we owned.
We had meetings scheduled in Orlando, Monday afternoon, so we headed that way shortly after getting settled in at the new hotel. We rode to Orlando in our business clothes. I felt like a real dumbass as we passed three other bikers, who were in proper riding gear, and here we were riding along in our dress pants and shirts. Luckily, Jerry was smart enough to suggest we take a change of clothes for the trip back. After our meeting, we headed over to a nearby bar and changed into our riding clothes; enjoyed a couple of cold beers; then rolled back to Lakeland. This put us on I-4 right about 5:30 PM. Just in time for rush hour.
We made great time getting back to Lakeland thanks to some nifty riding by both of us. Jerry took the lead and when we found ourselves in traffic that prevented us riding together, we would take different lanes and just work our way through independently. This worked out great and we never found ourselves separated by more than a car or two at any given time. We made the 50 mile ride back to Lakeland in about 45 minutes. If you’ve ever been on I-4 at 5:30 in the evening you can appreciate that feat.
By Tuesday, the news was full of reports on Hurricane Wilma and the expectation that she was on a direct path towards us. We planned a run to Daytona Beach for Biketoberfest on Friday and it appeared Wilma was going to squash that notion. I planned an evacuation route for us that kept us off of the interstates and made additional hotel reservations, just in case. Since Jerry and I both were in Houston during the evacuation for Hurricane Rita, the last thing I wanted was to get trapped in miles of bumper-to-bumper traffic escaping Florida.
Hurricane Wilma decided to stall over the Yucatan and batter Mexico for a couple of days. This meant she wasn’t arriving in Florida until Monday of the next week, so we were able to switch to Plan A and hit Biketoberfest. Our hotel for Friday night was just north of Daytona Beach. We could have taken I-4 to I-95 and made the 150 mile run in less than three hours, but I took back roads and turned it into about a 3 1/2 hour ride. It wasn’t bad except for a few miles where we had to pass through the suburbs of northwest Orlando.
We checked into the hotel and unloaded our gear. As we reached the top of the stairs we were greeted by a wild-eyed rottweiler barking insanely at us through the window of his hotel room, which coincidentally, was right next door to us. We attempted to relax a little before leaving for Daytona, but that dog barked incessantly the whole time we were there. It made us a little leery about what we could expect all night long, but what the hell. We just jumped on the bikes and got our Friday night party started.
We only had one night in Daytona Beach, but it was worth it. I’ve been to Bike Week a couple of times and Biketoberfest is a scaled-down bike week, with a lot fewer people. A night of drinking, eating, looking at beer tub girls, and drinking, checking out accessories and looking at more beer tub girls, and drinking, eating some more, and looking at beer tub girls does a fellow good. I highly recommend it.
We bypassed Destination Daytona, even though that was the main attraction for Biketoberfest. It was packed and we didn’t want to waste a lot of time sitting in lines, etc. Instead, we made our way to the Broken Spoke Saloon in Ormond Beach.
It was still pretty early in the evening so action was slow. We wandered around and took a look at the various vendors. We made a mental note to pick up some cold weather gloves, since by now we knew we were going to be heading into chilly weather on the way back.
We left the Spoke and headed in to Main Street to see what was happening. We wandered up and down Main Street and ultimately landed in Harry’s Outback. Harry’s Outback usually has a good band and great beer tub girls. They didn’t disappoint at Biketoberfest. We had some dinner and enjoyed the sights and sounds for a couple of hours.
Since the Spoke was right on our way back to the hotel we decided another stop there would do us some good. By this time, things were rockin’ and we killed a little more time. We even managed to remember to buy the gloves we had looked at earlier. We made one more stop at the local Waffle House for a good old fashioned greasy spoon breakfast in the early morning hours before heading back to the hotel. Where, surprisingly, the dog next door had settled down and we didn’t hear a single bark out of him all night.
Saturday morning arrived and it was time to head back to Texas. Again, if you look at a map, you’ll notice that Chattanooga, Tennessee really isnít on the way from Daytona Beach to Houston. However, Chattanooga was that nightís destination because, you guessed it again; the best Hooters Iíve ever visited is in Chattanooga. I figured we might as well work in a visit while we were in the area. Hell, it couldnít be more than a few hundred miles out of our way.
I had a pretty good route using back roads worked out that would get us to Chattanooga and take us through, or near, a couple of interesting stops. Unfortunately, one of the “short cuts” I picked turned out to be more of a challenge than I expected. Even though I knew some parts of the road were “unpaved”, I chose to take this route anyway.
Shit! For anyone who knows northeast Florida and extreme southern Georgia, you’ll know what I mean when I say the road wasn’t dirt, it was sand! I almost dropped my bike in the first quarter of a mile and looked back in my mirror just in time to see Jerry go down. Smart men would have turned around right there and backtracked to the main highway. The “smart men” element didn’t exist for Jerry and me. We were, “gonna beat this goddamn road!”
Seven miles and almost an hour later we found ourselves worn out and at the edge of the highway. Seven miles of slipping and sliding, bumping and bouncing, rockin’ and rollin’, and we had reached our goal. But, we didn’t drop a bike again! We taught that road a serious lesson! And, lost a good 30 to 40 minutes of time. The shortest distance between two points may be a straight line, but it isn’t always the fastest. “Smart men”; I gotta bring a couple of those along next time.
On the upside, we made it to Valdosta, Georgia about 1:00 PM and had some lunch at Hooters. This time the Hooters girls were very friendly, and mostly cute, and the food was pretty good. Unfortunately, we were way behind schedule and needed to make up some time. This meant we would have to skip the next scheduled Hooters stop in Albany and ditch the plan to stop and visit the Andersonville National Historic Site.
Andersonville was the site of one of the worst POW camps during the Civil War. I hated to miss seeing it, but there just wasn’t enough time. Too many men suffered and died there to allow it only a few minutes of my time. I hope to get the chance to visit it in the future and give it the respect it deserves.
By the time we made it to Newnan, Georgia, it was obvious we were making terrible time. It was also obvious that we had passed through the first of two cold fronts we knew were making their way south. The weather was turning colder and we were still 150 miles from Chattanooga. We were forced to make the dreadful decision to jump on the interstates and get there as fast as we could.
This meant taking I-85 into the suburbs of Atlanta, sneaking around the west side on I-285 and then making a beeline for Chattanooga on I-75. All was well initially on I-85. We cruised along at 80 mph until we reached I-285 where the exit was closed due to construction. This required a relatively painless detour and ultimately, we found ourselves headed in the right direction on I-285.
We made it several miles north on I-75 before pulling off the interstate and thawing out. The temperature continued to drop as we rode further north. We made one more thawing stop close to Chattanooga and ultimately arrived at our hotel which just happened to be less than two miles from Hooters.
The Hooters in Chattanooga on Brainerd Road is my all-time favorite. Every girl is fine, friendly and I haven’t had a bad meal there yet. They didn’t let us down. Auburn was playing LSU and the White Sox were beginning their sweep of the Astros (Sorry, Houston fans). The bartender, Ashley, took terrific care of us. She just couldn’t believe we had gone hundreds of miles out of our way just to visit her Hooters (pun intended). It turned out to be a great night of sports, beer, and babes.
We woke up Sunday morning to sunny skies, but some very chilly air. Luckily, we were able to sleep in that morning because within about 30 minutes of our departure we were going to gain an hour by crossing into the Central Time Zone. This gave us the opportunity to let things warm up before heading out.
I entered the breakfast room at the hotel to grab a quick bite and some hot coffee. It was full of normal people, but there was one little boy who was fascinated by the chaps and leather jacket I was wearing. He was too scared to talk to me directly, but I noticed him asking his dad about me. I went over and talked to him a little and explained that the chaps helped keep me warm and provided a little protection for my legs. He was peering out the window as I rode off. Perhaps he was a biker in the making!
The ride west out of Chattanooga on I-24 is one of the few interstate rides I enjoy. It’s a great stretch of road in the Tennessee hills. Thank goodness, because there isn’t any better way to peel out of Chattanooga to the west. Even though I like that stretch of I-24, I still had us exiting as soon as possible and hitting TN-156. TN-156 parallels I-24 to the northwest, but is an excellent road. It’s full of twisties and rambling turns as we climbed into and out of the hills. A mist, similar to what you see in the Great Smokey Mountains greeted us as we ascended and descended the hills.
Eventually, we tee-boned into US-41A and followed it into Winchester, Tennessee. From Winchester, we took TN- 50 west a few miles to Mansford Road. Again, Mansford Road was a picturesque narrow road running through Tims Ford State Park and along the Tims Ford Lake. There was minimum traffic and the road was full of gentle curves and rolling hills.
Mansford Road dumped us out on TN-55 just north of our intended first stop, the Jack Daniels’ Distillery in Lynchburg, Tennessee. As you have probably guessed by now, we really didn’t have time to take the tour of the distillery. But, we did get to stop and snap a few pictures of the grounds and give our butts a short break. Lynchburg hosted the Jack Daniels’ Bar-B-Q Championships just before our visit, so most of the masses left town by the time we arrived. I didn’t see much of it, but Lynchburg seemed to be a cool small town. Sorry Bandit, it was Sunday and the county is dry, so I couldn’t grab you a bottle.
Our second Tennessee stop was scheduled to be Lawrenceburg; one time home of Davey Crockett. We took TN-129 out of Lynchburg. TN-129 didn’t disappoint either. Again, it was a great run of about 30 miles of very limited traffic, sweeping curves and rolling hills. This was my way of running cross country. I loved it and wound up getting a terrific shot of Jerry cruising down a hill and through the trees. This was one of my favorite stretches of road.
TN-129 led us to US-31A and US-31A took us into Pulaski. We picked up US-64 in Pulaski and on into Lawrenceburg. The town square in Lawrenceburg contains a picturesque pavilion and statue of David Crockett. I could have sworn that I read somewhere that there was an old cabin of Davey’s just off the town square, but I must have been wrong. The best we could do was find the Old Jail Museum about two blocks away.
We decided to grab lunch in Lawrenceburg. Since there wasnt a Hooters in town we picked the Catfish Dock Company Restaurant. Man, the hush puppies were really good. I had the fried catfish and Jerry tried the bar-b-q pork chops. We both had a dynamite meal and headed out to make our way on down the road.
As soon as we stepped out of the restaurant we faced the second front, the icy one, was making its way into Lawrenceburg. The clouds had rolled in and the wind was blowing strong from the west. We bundled up, turned the bikes directly into that biting wind and pounded on toward Adamsville. It got colder with every mile. Luckily, we managed to avoid any serious rain. There was a heavy mist in the air, but we never experienced anything more than a few drops of rain at any one time.
Our third stop on this wintry looking day was Adamsville. Adamsville is the home town of Buford T. Pusser, the sheriff of “Walking Tall” fame. His home is now a museum dedicated to his memory. We made a quick visit and snapped a picture of the bikes in front of the Buford Pusser Memorial Park then turned back to the east to our next destination, the Shiloh National Military Park.
Shiloh is the location of one of the bloodiest battles in the western theatre of the Civil War. More than 20,000 men were killed or wounded during the two-day battle there. It was a major victory for Ulysses Grant even though he was on the verge of defeat before reinforcements entered the picture late on the first day.
The park spreads out over hundreds of acres. Needless to say, time didn’t allow us the opportunity to fully explore the park or even follow the entire tour route. We did get a chance to dismount, take a few pictures, and prepare ourselves for the final push to Memphis. This is another park that I would like to visit again. Like Gettysburg, it helps to understand the flow of the battle. With this knowledge, you can almost bring the battle to life as you wander around the battlefield.
Our run from Shiloh to Memphis was by way of TN-57. A few miles east of Pocahontas, Tennessee, Jerry found himself with a flatbed wrecker on his tail. We were running 70 to 75 mph at the time, so it seemed odd that we weren’t moving fast enough for the wrecker. Eventually, I saw him begin passing Jerry and I backed off the throttle to allow him to get in front of me also. As he passed, I decided if he could run 80, so could we. We fell in behind the wrecker and off we went.
We didn’t rumble more than a few miles before we realized why the wrecker was in such a hurry. As we approached the top of a hill, one of the local volunteers held us back while the wrecker proceeded to assist in clearing an accident. We looked down the embankment to our right and saw a small compact car sitting sideways in the trees, missing a front fender and dangling the front bumper.
According to our traffic control volunteer, the old lady driving the car had either fallen asleep or blacked out just as she approached an on-coming pickup pulling a travel trailer. She crossed the centerline, barely clipped the rear bumper of the pickup and smashed into the side of the travel trailer. As best as I could tell, she must have slid to the edge of the highway and down the embankment without rolling. By the time we arrived, they loaded her in the ambulance and were transporting her to a local hospital. The trailer was still hooked to the hitch, so the people in the pickup must have gotten one hell of a jolt when she hit it.
We made another stop in Collierville, at the local Wal-Mart, to pick up some warmer clothes. We anticipated a brisk morning on Monday and figured we’d better be prepared. Not to mention, night was falling and it was already pretty damn cold. We seem to find ourselves hitting a Wal-Mart on almost every trip we take in the fall. This one was no exception.
Memphis presented us with another Hooters stop for dinner. As luck would have it, the Sunday night NFL game had been played earlier due to Hurricane Wilma and the only thing on was the Astros-White Sox, Game 2 of the World Series. We were able to watch a good chunk of the game and left with the Astros leading. It wasn’t until we arrived at our hotel at the Grand Casino in Tunica, Mississippi that we found out the White Sox had won with a walk off homer in the bottom of the ninth inning.
Oh yeah, I almost forgot the Hooters critique. Our waitress, Heather, was new, but very pretty and friendly. There weren’t many customers in the store, so it made it easy to grab good service. The food was good too, so all in all, the Memphis Hooters scored pretty well on our scale.
When I made reservations at the Grand Casino Hotel, the intent was to get there and enjoy drinks and gambling. However, we spent too much time watching the Astros game and arrived later than we would have liked. We decided to pass on the casino and just get a good night’s rest. We were already aware that Monday was going to start out cold and we had almost 600 miles back to Houston.
The morning temperature lived up to our expectations. It was in the upper 30s, but at least the sun was shining brightly. We pulled out of the hotel (They allowed us to park the bikes right by the front doors. Damn nice, I must say.) and headed south on US-61 toward Greenville, Mississippi. We started the morning out right with a 95 mile run to Cleveland, Mississippi where we stopped for breakfast.
We left Cleveland and continued to Leland where we picked up US-82 and headed into Arkansas. Northwestern Mississippi, southeastern Arkansas and northeastern Louisiana must produce a huge portion of the country’s cotton crop. We passed one cotton field after another, most of them recently picked. Tractor-trailer-sized bales of cotton sat waiting to be taken to the gins. Jerry even picked up some of the cotton on the side of the road as a souvenir.
Our stint in Arkansas was less than 50 miles, but it added another state to the trip making it eight states in all. We took US-165 south into Louisiana and arrived in West Monroe about 1:00 PM. Just in time for lunch and, what a coincidence, there was a Hooters just a couple of miles down the interstate. Again, it was sparsely populated given that the lunch hour had passed, so we got a tasty lunch and fine-looking service. Our waitress was a selfproclaimed biker chick, so she enjoyed listening about our trip and checking out the bikes.
After lunch we made a charge for Alexandria and Renegade Harley-Davidson again. Jerry noticed the night before that his Road King was running a low on oil, so he wanted to see about adding a quart of synthetic as soon as he could. We knew Renegade was open on Monday, since the sales girl the previous weekend had encouraged us to return on Monday and check out the new shipment of tee-shirts due to arrive. As it turned out, we could have stopped a Bleu Bayou Harley-Davidson in Monroe. They’re also open on Monday, but I didn’t figure that out until I was back in Houston.
Jerry snagged his quart of oil and I found a tee-shirt to add to my collection, so the stop at Renegade was worthwhile. It was right on our way and didn’t take too long. However, we were still racing the sun. I was hoping to make it to I-10 before sunset and it was already pushing 5:00 PM. I-10 sat 85 miles south of us on what would mostly be two-lane highway passing through several small towns.
Needless to say, any time we weren’t in town, we pushed the bikes hard. Passing wasn’t a problem as there was usually a clear line of sight and little traffic. We made good time and reached I-10 just after the sun had dipped below the western horizon.
But, if you’re trying to make up time and traveling from the east to southeast Texas, there’s really no better way to go. We took a quick break at the first exit on I-10; then began the mad dash to Texas. We had about 70 miles to Beaumont, Texas and knew from previous trips that we could get a hot bowl of seafood gumbo and a cold beer at the Papadeaux Seafood Kitchen there.
Other than getting the hell beat out of us by the constant bumps and humps of I-10, the ride across southwest Louisiana was uneventful. As is always the case, I let out a quick “yeehaw” as I crossed back into Texas. I’ve lived in Texas for almost 23 years and I really love this state. It always feels good to return to Texas!
We made our gumbo and beer stop and topped off the tanks. At this point, Jerry was 60 miles from home and I was 110. We agreed that if I followed him off the freeway when he exited, we’d stop for a quick break, but if not, we’d see each other the next day at work. I decided to stay in the saddle and make a break for home. I made it to the house in about an hour and 40 minutes non-stop.
Like I said, we’ve had better trips, but I’d rather spend a day in the saddle than doing much anything else. The trip was just another one to add to the collection. We’ve done the trip over to Florida just about every way there is to do it. Now it’s time to go north or west, so I guess I need to get to work on a Sturgis trip, a Laughlin River Run, a Las Vegas Bike Fest, or something like that.
How about a run Pedro, then Sturgis and home to Texas.–Bandit
