West 2002
 
 

Day 16

August 9

 
  Knowing what I have to do, I wake up early. I realize that I am about out of time and about out of tire. The last few days I get up and spin the back tire to see if the threads are beginning to show before I leave. But it's back to Four Corners just for the principle of the thing. I'm out at good daybreak and cover the ground quickly, it fact so quickly that the gatekeeper at Four Corners has not even arrived. I ease on in and the only ones stirring are a few of the Navajos who sell T-shirts in the surrounding booths. As the sun comes up, I have the monument all to myself – no noisy kids, no arrogant teenagers, no exasperating adults.  
 
 
  I even get a great shot of the Redbird all by herself with no one around.  
 
 
 

I stand at the exact spot where the four states meet and can contemplate quietly the places I've been and the people I've met. This is a trip that I've dreamed of for 34 years and now it is quickly coming to an end. This will be the last ‘scenic' stop I make on this ride, for this day and the next will be a hard push to get home. By the time I get to the house, I will have crossed over 20 state lines. I enjoy the solitude and the quiet, as the sun rises and illuminates the surrounding hills, but I know what lies before me. The life on the road and the joys of it are hard to describe to someone who has never experienced it. It's like trying to explain what an orange tastes like to someone who has never tasted one. But I realize I must get a move on, so I wander over to one of the booths to see what souvenirs they have. I ask one of the ladies -

“Is there someone I should give the entrance fee to, since nobody was at the gate?”

She answers. “Don't worry about. It'll be fine.”

I thank her and pick out a T-shirt with Four Corners on it. That way I can say I've been there, done that, and got the T-shirt. I quickly pay her and mount up, knowing it's a long way to Oklahoma from here. But I have no regrets, though this will add 120 miles and 2 hours to today's ride. Sometimes you've just got to do what your heart tells you to. I manage to get a good shot of Shiprock on the way out, a rock formation that the early settlers used as a landmark. It rises majestically up from the plains and can be seen for miles and miles away. It looks a lot like a three masted sailing ship standing out alone on the prairie.		  
 
 
 

On the way back to Farmington, I stop at a little restaurant surrounded by work trucks. I can tell the crowd is a familiar one by the way they cut up with the waitress. The service is good and the food is great and I devour it quickly. It's shaping up to be a long hot day and the crosswinds are starting to blow. I gas up the ST and hit the road in earnest, determined that I will make it to Oklahoma by night fall. Once I hit I40, I roar across New Mexico. I stop for gas, and as I'm filling up, a lady pulls in on a vintage BMW. Her name is Janice and she has done a bit of distance riding herself.

“Is that a BMW you're ridin?” she asks.

“No, just a Japanese version of one” I say with a grin.

She's just out for a day spin and hopes next week to fly to Ohio and pick up an old 350 Honda. She's really into vintage bikes and plans on riding the 350 back to New Mexico. I wish her luck and realize that's a pretty tall order, remembering what the seats on those old 350s are like. She checks out the Russell seat and is really impressed with it. I give her the information and she decides she may see about getting one. We say our good-byes, and I am a man in motion again with the goal of Oklahoma on my mind. When I hit the Texas line, I stop for my shot. 		 
 
 
  But I've got the Texas panhandle to cross, so I have to move on. I'm glad it's only the panhandle and not the entire state of Texas. I've done some of that before in a car, and it's a long way any way you slice it. As I get into Texas, I40 turns into a construction zone. Fortunately traffic is light, so I don't get caught in any messes. As I rush along, my mind returns to the fact that I already have more miles on my back tire than the last one that was showing serious threads. But I figure I'll check it when I stop for the night. If it goes, it wouldn't be the first time and fortunately, the front tire still looks good. I've lost a front tire before and it gets pretty ugly before it gets better. As I rush along with these thoughts rattling around in my head I see something rising up from the plains in front of me. I can't quite make out what it is but I find out soon enough. It is, according to their sign, the largest cross in the Western Hemisphere.  
 
 
  It is tastefully done with the sculpture of the Stations of the Cross at the base. I stop and take a picture, amazed at the size and magnitude of the monument. But I don't tarry long as I keep my sights on the Oklahoma border. I'm hoping to at least make Oklahoma City for the night, but the day is hot and the crosswinds are slowly wrecking what is left of my hands. At last, another state border is crossed. I stop and take the customary picture and am glad that Oklahoma is not under construction like Texas.  
 
 
  As I take stock, I realize that I do not have much strength left in my hands and I had best get off the road before I run off it. I have found that discretion is the better part of valor, so I decide to stop at the next major town. 750 miles for the day is plenty enough, so when I see the exit for Elk City, Oklahoma I take it. It has several motels, a Western Sizzlin and a Denny's right in close. What more could I ask for? At this point, it really doesn't matter what the motel costs, I just want food and some cool place to rest my weary bones. They fix me up and I unload the RedBird, slip into a clean T-shirt and head for Western Sizzlin. I consume a ribeye in honor of Guy and make my plans for a mad dash to the house tomorrow. But if I knew what lay ahead, I would probably have planned another route.