Riding the Twisted Sisters – Two

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You may be relieved to learn this will be the last motorcycle riding post for a while. These forays are a labor of love, but my bike and I are in need of a refit before we sally forth again. A thorough washing, oil change and new rubber fore and aft are high on the list. The bike probably needs something, too. So, if you enjoy these interludes, savor this one. If not, you can return the Dramamine to the medicine closet – after today. Everybody wins.

Second, the sound track on the video is not my first choice. It's not second or even third. Originally, I selected ABBA (Take a Chance on Me.) and The Grateful Dead (Truckin). The trouble began when I uploaded the video to YouTube. There, I ran afoul of the Global-Anal-Music Biz. They balk at folks sharing their music in public. Eventually, I selected something nondescript from the “Approved Music” list. [sigh]  I think it might be the soundtrack from a skin flick. Seems to work, tho.

The tour of the Twisted Sisters was five hours of what you see on the video. At the end of the ride, I was exhausted in the most wonderful way. (Still am.) I also had more than an hour of video from the trip. Funny, it took all weekend to find the ten minutes that seemed to capture the flavor of the country and the ride. It was good that I reviewed the video. Otherwise, I might never have seen the grandeur on the roadsides. On those twisty roads, a glance left or right at the wrong moment could result in my becoming part of the scenery. In some respects, you and I are seeing the country the same way.

After licking the apple strudel from my fingers in Medina, I found Ranch Road 337 and headed west.  The twisty roads showed up almost immediately.  Signs reading "Sharp Curves and Steep Grades Next 5 Miles" were stacked a hundred yards apart.  I recognised this as overkill, along with the sign that read "Abandon Hope All Ye Who Enter Here...".  The Texas Department of Transportation is well-known for its aversion to adventure on its highways.

Traffic was light to non-existent.  Many of the four-wheel vehicles are operated by locals accustomed to motorcycle traffic along these byways.  Accordingly, they drive on the shoulder to save the effort of moving over every two minutes to let the two-wheelers pass.  I consider their courtesy a good example for drivers everywhere.  There were more two-wheelers than cars and trucks on the road during my ride.  Harley-Davidsons, mostly, ridden by round-bellied, gray or balding men out to take the air.  Most of them were stopped or semi-stopped when I met or overtook them.  Still, it was comforting to be among "my own kind."  If you look close, you may see a bike or two in the video. Look quick.

Vanderpool was the first village I encountered west of Medina. I think I was in a state of shock when I arrived and may have failed to get even a snapshot of the place. No matter.  I'll get one next time.  Salivating heavily, I continued along 337 to Leaky, a village of 400 (mebbe) in Frio Canyon.  It is small, but pleasant and equipped with facilities for recreation, refreshment and shopping.  The "Hog Pen" appeared promising.

After taking a few quick breaths, I continued toward Campwood.  That's where I discovered an oasis called "The Motorcycle Stop."  They sell everything the cyclist might need.  Beer, grub and any article of clothing you could possibly need, especially if you need it in black.  It's is part of the Harley thing.  Me?  I love black, but I attend few formal occasions these days.

  

The breezeway at The Stop provides a pleasant refuge from the road, even if you only stay long enough for a glass of tea.  As long as I was there, I purchased a couple of T-shirts testifying to my riding prowess.  I felt I earned a touch of badness.

Check out the view from the open air lounge.  I can imagine a very pleasant time, sipping a cold beer at the end of the day and watching the sun set behind the hills.  It was very civilized.  At left, two patrons wave friendly greeting.

The parking lot held a few bikes, taking refuge from the bright sun beneath a stand of oaks.  A couple mature looking bikers fussed about with them before strolling into the building.  Someone showed up in their Ferrari. Cool, eh?  I didn't hang around to find out who it was. Could it be Michael Schuhmacher?  Mebbe.

Finally, A picture of one of the tastefully decorated T-shirts I purchased to commemorate the occasion.  I hope you will scroll down to the Twisted Sister video, just beneath this post.  It is a little bit exciting, I think.  :)

Dawdle Across Texas with Me – Episode 2

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The Promenade in Fredericksburg.

When we visited last, I was in Valley Mills, Texas. I did not stop for one of those aromatic Mexican or Barbeque lunches. It had nothing to do with moral (or any other kind of) fiber. I had a limited amount of time, so I pressed on. I headed for Clifton along Highway 6. I think George W. Bush’s place is around here somewhere.

An old barn

Clifton showed up in twenty minutes and I reconnected with 219, headed for the sleepy village of Cranfill’s Gap. After the trip was over, I discovered my aunt Evelyn lives there, still. She is my late father’s eldest sister and a very sweet person. I shall make a note to try to find her on my next pass.

 St. Olaf's Kirk!

I detoured to revisit St. Olaf’s Kirk. You might recall I snapped a picture of the 1880s vintage church during deer season. (See “The Hunt.”) Then, cold air and overcast skies prevailed. This time, warm air and sunny skies were the order of the day. I wanted to get a better picture under brighter conditions.

Cottage in The Gap

Imagine my surprise when I arrived to find the church surrounded by workers, cranes and scaffolding. The white stucco façade was gone and the original-looking limestone exterior gleamed in the sun. I did not get the photo I wanted, but I am happy to have the old church returned to its historic appearance. In the fullness of time, I shall catch it gleaming in the sun, without the construction crews. It will be beautiful!

Scene in The Gap

Next, I cruised through “The Gap” toward Fairy, Texas. Even tinier, Fairy is the gateway to Hico, home of my stepmother, Marguerite. She has been ill and I have not seen her in awhile. Following the rural roads, I made my way to her door. She answered the bell and we had a long conversation. Now in her 90’s, she admits she has lost a step or two, but her wit is sharp and her disposition is sunny, particularly considering her recent health issues. I learned she went to the hospital with pneumonia and heart trouble. I was happy she recovered. I think she was, too. She has not met the youngest grandson. (My Bad) I pledged to bring Joshua for a short visit in the very near future.

When our conversation ended, I headed back the way I came, savoring the bright sun and mild temperature. I wanted to be off the highway before dark. I am not sure why. It may be I am getting old. Nah.

Highway, Trees and Bluebonnets

The winds picked up as I rode north. At one point, a gust pushed my ride hard toward the unpaved shoulder. I leaned into the wind and wondered if I could turn hard enough to keep off the loose gravel on the shoulder. I did not relish the idea of hitting gravel at speed in a hard turn. Nothing good would come of it. The gust died as suddenly as it began and the motorcycle headed sharply left, toward oncoming traffic. I hauled the bike upright and scampered back to the proper lane, missing the oncoming truck by two hundred yards. I think I saw the truck driver laughing as he sped by. No matter. I would laugh, too, after I got home.

Welcoming Evening Sky

The rest of the trip was tranquil. I arrived home before sunset, exhausted and exhilarated. I think I shall approach my next outing a little different. Next time, I plan to give in to more temptations to stop and see the sights; talk to more people. After all, there is more to touring than scenery and speed. We shall see.

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Dawdle Across Texas with Me… Episode 1

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Oh, I forgot to mention this until now.  Click on the pictures to see larger, more detailed versions. Two clicks gets the largest picture.  Enjoy!

It is springtime in Texas and life is good.  Redbud trees are in bloom. Wisteria vines  show signs of life and the beloved bluebonnet, Texas' state flower is growing wild in the countryside [top].

Yesterday, I had all the domestic tranquility I could stand. I needed air, and lots of it. Lucky for me, it was a sunny, mild day. Speaking of air, it was windy, too, but I will say more about that later. I fussed about, ate breakfast and lit the fuse on my trusty cycle. For those unfamiliar with motorcycles, mine is a Honda and boasts tongue-swallowing acceleration. It is just the thing for those moments when civilization encroaches on one’s sanity.

I shot south through Waxahachie and caromed into Milford, Texas on one breath. Milford is 25 miles south and 80 years behind my home base. I believe the town is slowly disappearing because Big “D” sucks the life out of it. I stopped in front of the Milford police station and drew my camera. The “downtown” of Milford is across the street from the cop house. It is in decay and something prompted me to snap a photo or two while it is still there.

After Milford, US highway 77 winds smoothly to Hillsboro. That is where I catch 22 westbound. I cannot recall ever having seen Texas greener. Emerald green grasses carpeted wide pastures along the way. Cattle and goats grazed here and there, oblivious to my passage. The air is sweet with every kind of plant fragrance and I greedily sucked it in. At times, I found myself gawking at the compelling beauty at the expense of watching where I was going. Luckily, my reverie ended before I actually plowed up the roadside wildflowers.

Highway 22 is well travelled. It will take you as far as Hamilton, Texas. It might go even farther. I do not know because there are so many smaller, twisty roads to explore before Hamilton. Farm Road 219 is one of them. Traffic along this narrow, winding road is local and sparse. The countryside is made of rolling hills and wide valleys. After the rains, which began last September, everything that can turn green has done so. This includes rocks, fence posts and pickup trucks. From the hilltops, a traveler can appreciate the immense size of the country. Green trees and grass mixed with bright wildflowers stretch to the horizon. I felt tiny staring out at creation, but happy too. I was relieved I did not bear responsibility for the immensity or beauty before me. All I had to do was to see and appreciate it. Sweet.

Eventually, I neared the town of Clifton (Pop. 3500-ish). I travelled this route before, on my way to lunch in Lometa. This time, I decided to explore another route and avoid the possibility of poisoning far from home. Farm Road 708 showed up just in time. Even narrower and less travelled than 219, it lead me around sweeping turns and between tall hills toward Valley Mills (Pop. 1100 +/-).

It was lunchtime when I arrived. I have not visited Valley Mills since my undergraduate days in Austin and I was pleased to find the little town in good condition and bustling with activity. Most of the activity seemed to be at the many barbeque and Mexican restaurants I passed on my way through town. The aroma of country cooking filled the air. After only a few blocks, I was slobbering like a hound dog, but I kept going. I had farther to go before I could rest.

I will tell you more about it next time.

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