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I realize today will be the last day on the road for me. It is hard to believe I will have ridden almost 8700 miles in 15 days by the time I get home. I've ridden through Wyoming, into Yellowstone, through Montana, across the Rockies, all over the Dakotas, up to Alaska, down the PCH on Oregon and California coast, across the Sierras, across the deserts of Nevada and Utah, across the Rockies again in Colorado and through the plains of Kansas - in one trip. It's still a pretty good little haul to Nashville, but I'm like a mule that smells the feed – I'm ready to head for the barn. There will be few photo ops today cause I got home on my mind and heart. I load up the RedBird and head back to the grill for breakfast. I'm amazed – the same lady that waited on me last night is there opening up this morning.
“Don't they let you go home at night?” I ask her.
“Yeah, sometimes” she says
with a grin.
I order an omelet, a side of
pig meat and some unsweetened ice tea. The meal comes quickly and I'm
glad. I figure this poor lady puts in some long hours, so I leave her
a big tip before I head out. The heat is climbing quickly and I know I've
got to push it to get home. I get into Missouri and finally make it to
Springfield. There 400 turns back into 60 so I motor along. Highway 60
will take me all the way to Paducah where I can jump on I24 to get to
Nashville. Traffic is slowed to a crawl just as I approach Willow Springs
due to construction. And as some DOTs do in construction zones, the highway
signs are taken down. There's a fifty/fifty chance as the road splits
that I will get it right. My choice is wrong and I end up on highway 63
instead of highway 60. After a while, my internal compass tells me I'm
headed south when I want to be headed east. I finally see a road sign
and I realize where I am. It's map time to sort out where I need to go.
Looks like Highway 160 will take me back to Poplar Bluff where I can reconnect
with Highway 60. It's a bit out of the way, but it appears to be quicker
than doubling back. Highway 160 is a winding 2 lane through the country
so I don't mind my missed turn too much. I'm focusing on making up time
and I do not notice the sky is turning that weird green and black. As
the wind begins to pick up, I notice up ahead is Tweedly-Dee driving Tweedly-Dum
along in an old beater at about 20 mph. There's a bright flash of lightning,
then I'm hit with a sideways fury of water and wind. This makes the driver
in front of me slow down even more. I contemplate parking the bike and
walking up there to see if they are still breathing. I can't stop to put
on my rain gear because there's no place to pull off – no shoulder, no
driveway - nothing. I can't pass them to find a spot because you can barely
see through the rain and they're dead center of the road. Lightning is
hitting all around and trees are coming down. I feel my waterproof boots
filling up on the inside with water and my clothes getting a fresh washing.
II have no other options except to ride on at a snail's pace behind the
folks in front. Finally I come to a place to pull off but it's a little
late now. I manage to pour the water out of my boots and get my rainsuit
on over my wet clothes. Thankfully it's warm or I would be in big trouble.
I quickly catch back up with the slowpokes but they finally turn off –
and for that I am thankful. I pickup my speed as best I can and make it
to Poplar Bluff in a few miserable hours. I see a store off on the side
road, and I pray that it at least has a restroom I can use to change into
something dry. It does, so I grab my Stich and some dry clothes and slosh
inside. Not only does this place have a large restroom, the restroom has
one of those wash-hands-dry-on-pants machines. I dry out my boots as best
I can and blow some of that nice hot air into them. It feels good to get
into some dry clothes after several hours of soaking. Outside under the
awning, there are two couples on cruisers holding up, waiting for the
rain to stop. They have the usual hot weather uniform – shorts, T-shirts
and tennis shoes. The apparent leader notices me putting on my Stich and
asks
“Ain't that suit hot?”
“Yeah it is little bit. But you know, the skin just don't grow back real well if you go down” I tell them.
I think of the dead spots on my body from get-offs before I wore protective gear. They just shake their head, unable to comprehend that they could possibly go down. I wonder to myself why do they think they are called accidents? I guess some riders believe you get to plan your get-offs but you get off with the clothes you get on with. As I load up the Redbird with my soggy clothes, I decide I'll stop at Lambert's in Sikeston for supper since it is kind of on the way. It's the fairly famous home of the ‘Flying Rolls' and I've never been there. When I do pull up, it appears to be a three-day wait, so I settle for a nearby Burger King.
I wolf down a so-so Whopper and head back to the road. At least it has stopped raining and I'm a lot closer to Paducah. Highway 60 is kind of nice as it crosses the rivers over old iron bridges and passes the river marshes. Before long I see the signs for I24 and know I'll be home in about 2-3 hours. I stop at the convenience store for one last fill-up and some more Pepsi and peanuts. I give my lovely wife, Sharyn, a call to let her know my estimated time of arrival. Tired, but happy to be almost home, I swing a leg over the RedBird and head her for the Holler.
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