Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

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Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Robert Johnson made a deal with the Devil. Sold his soul to play the guitar. I took a ride, almost made a deal with God to keep me alive.

Thumbs up to those writers of the reports that inspire and motivate and get others on the road. It’s an effort, though when pushed by mood, it starts to roll.

The winds of maybe roll over us
The Things you run into
Restores your soul.
The Things you run into,
Put a Tiger in your Tank.
Thou prepareth the table before me,
And Free Glasses with every Full Tank.
My Cup runneth over
Many Prizes to choose from
And Over…and Out…of Here.*




And to get Over…and Out…of Here, here being New Orleans, requires crossing Texas.

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So, I am going to arrive in Texas around where Brno, Czech Republic is, and exit beyond Amsterdam, way beyond Amsterdam.

Texas, of course has no Alps, but does have

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Western Boots

and

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More Western Boots

and

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Exemplary hygiene

I choose to leave on the day after Mother’s day, because leaving before is not good in either the long, and most certainly not, the short run.

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This was before the boys in Wacco had that dustup. It appears copying a patch and Bogarting a parking place is just as offensive as drawing Mohammed. With similar results. Maybe The Bandidos and ISIS can get together for a BBQ, minus the pulled pork.

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or maybe not

Minus Mo, minus Bandidos I did cross the Lone Star State twice during the Biblical Weather they had. One time went fine.

I leave at 430 am to outsmart the weather. I am teased into thinking maybe it’s gonna be ok because for the first 150 miles, it is. Outside of Alexandria, La the sky falls and continues to fall for the next 3 hours, and when I get to Texas, dry roads await! Did I outsmart the weather…no.

Day 1 was a day to make tracks and tracks I made, though mostly interstate, I 10, US 190, I 49 and I 20, I 35 and up to Wichita Falls. Riding the panhandle of Texas is about as bad as wide open sparsely populated riding gets. It’s arrow straight, often hot, and always windy. And dusty too. This is God’s country for tornados and I catch it on a good day. Dust devils and straight line red winds.

I lean into the warm cross winds and plow through, ever closer to my goal of Trinidad, Colorado for the evening. Making tracks on day 2 is on the agenda also. Eventually I get to the scenic parts of my route through Texas.

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Before any Texans chime in let me say this.
Some of my best friends are Texans.
I admire Texas; it’s got charm, and history, and the Texans love it for reasons that are easily apparent to me. I’ve traveled all over the state and I realize that this particular route is the worst way to cross the state, but it is the quickest for me, so I endured. Yes, I know Palo Duro is right over there to the left.
Yes, I know that I could’ve gone through oozing-with-culture Lariat or Muleshoe or Levelland and felt the true west. BTDT and yes it is far better.
Didn’t have the time though if I was going to make it to the Bay Area, and the Corbin place and Ted Porter’s Beemershop in the 2 weeks I have.

So, I rode and compared notes with fellow travelers mostly about the rains to the east and how they fared. In short, everybody got wet, some worse than others.

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I rode the gap between the rains, but only for a day.

Trinidad, Colorado is the gateway for those coming from the south and east. The good riding is in full swing here, having begun somewhat earlier in New Mexico.
from wiki…
“In the early 1900s, Trinidad became nationally known for having the first woman sports editor of a newspaper, Ina Eloise Young. [12] Her expertise was in baseball, and in 1908, she was the only woman sportswriter to cover the World Series. [13] During the same period of time, Trinidad was also home to a popular semi-pro baseball team, which was briefly coached by Damon Runyon.”

It is also the birthplace of Ed Wolff, actor and circus giant
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Ed Wolff on the right. Alfred Nobel on the left.

At 7’4” Ed was 3 inches taller than Shaquille O’Neal and 8” taller than LeBron James. Yao Ming would look down on Ed being 2” taller than Ed. But who’s counting

Ed was often typecast, and here_
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_he is seen with a (very) young Elizabeth Warren dressed as Will Robinson in an outtake from Lost in Space. Bill Mumme had a clause in his contract about circus giants (“ix-nay on the iant-jay”). EW was an actor as well as a Native American. Bet you didn’t know that!

I decided that I would cross Colorado on US160. I have done it a couple of times, but I don’t think I ever did it from as far east as Trinidad. A beautiful road that crosses Wolf Creek Pass, el 10,857 ft. Problem is I got to do it in rain and sleet and snow. Looking back on it now it was a great ride and though the pass was covered in thick layers of snow, the road was clear and I was warm in my modified rain suit and gerbings liner.
To get to US160 from Trinidad you could just go up I 25, but the preferable way is following the wonderful Co 12 route. First time I rode this, years ago the aspen were turning gold and this was one of the first roads I encountered that i told myself, “this is my favorite road ever.” Many times that has happened since, but having the chance to ride it again, now years later, did not disappoint in spite of the weather.

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or—you choose—

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The weather changed my route EVERY day, and all the planning of the routes out to Menlo Park, was only a source of information, and disappointment. Everyday I had to go to Plan B or C, and often there was no Plan B until the morning I would leave, choosing the route that seemed the least problematic. Checking the weather at the last moment to make the final plan. It changed that quickly and never for the good.

A motorcycle trip cross country is often an experience in compromise. Riders know this, but I have never had to make so many. And it was good though exhausting on old bones. Now, 2 and a half weeks later, I am rested enough to write about it.

When you’re in that part of the country-Colorado/Utah/NM/AZ, are there bad routes? Not likely…just some better than others. So, dealing with rain/snow/hail/sleet became commonplace for the next two weeks.

I land in Monticello, Utah on day three.
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more to come

* “5” Leslie Winer, Witch
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by sweatmark »

Thanks for sharing yet another adventure, good Doctor.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Catchina »

I did that southern Colorado route including Wolf Creek Pass in July 2013, fantastic. Thanks for the great ride report!
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Brothers and sisters I have a confession to make this evening.

I've been a god **** fool, hanging out on street corners with hos and and junkies
 living mah life soo low.

But D. Wayne Love, he walked inta my life, said, “Larry, I gotta 12 step plan for ya brother!”

And tonight for you people, were gonna share his message with you.

Step One 
You gotta consider yourself completely powerless under me, D. Wayne.

Step Two 
You figure That's just gotta be jelly cos jam just don't shake like that
*


I coulda used D. Wayne”s help for a route today, it couldn’t have been worse than my choice.
Although I arrived in the sun in Monticello, the next morning was gray and foreboding. I check out WeatherBug and it looks like if I head toward Moab, take a left, head down I could get around the yellow and blue and green that festooned the radar map. After all, there was no red or the dreaded maroon.

Sure! And I’ll check out Canyonlands along the way. You betcha.

I talk myself into this. I am easily convinced.
Mistake? Who’s to say, but the weather didn’t behave as expected and after a short detour into the beginnings of CanyonLands, I hit the rain. Or I could say, "It hit me." Smacked me, made me it's bi-otch. That kind of rain.

Antideluvian near CanyonLands

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and
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The rains start just after this shot and I had to roll. Big drops. They splatter on my windscreen.
The kind of drops you talk about after. Morbidly obese drops. Rude drops.

So my plan to outsmart the weather hits a snap. Then another.

US191 is a pretty scenic highway from Arizone all the way up, but here in mid Utah it traverses some really pretty countryside, from CanyonLands to Moab To Arches. Post card stuff, really.
But, I am reminded of the scene from Pulp Fiction in which Jules and Vincent are discussing the tasty merits of pork. “Bacon is good, pork chops taste good,” Vincent smacks his lips. Jules, unmoved, just doesn’t agree, noting pigs are dirty animals who do not “disregard their own feces,” and offers that “ sewer rat may taste like pumpkin pie, but (he’ll) never know because (he’ll) never eat the the filthy m0thr f—-er.”

So, I’m Jules, and sewer rat is Moab and Arches and filthy animal is THE RAIN. Just horrible, soaking and cold. Even through a rain suit with a functioning Gerbings liner.

There was never a question to visit Arches, though on the map IT’S RIGHT THERE. I’ll never know, at least on this trip.
US191 is two lane and has 18 wheelers going both ways. Lots of soaking blinding spray. Tip: When an 18 wheeler is headed into your face stay to the right side of the road to avoid most of the spray and the buffet from the wake.
I pull into a station for fuel and to feel my hands again and to defog my visor. I start again and take a left onto I 70 for a short while and am out of the rain. I take a left on UT 24, and enjoy some very nice riding, naively thinkin I made it around the rain. I am right for about an hour or so.

Postdiluvian shots from UT24

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And I roll on, headed for Torrey then on to the Devil’s Backbone, Ut12, a very fun road.

I know to get there I have to get past the Dixie forest. By the time I get to Torrey, it is raining again and cold and the one gas station is clotted with vehicles and some old fart-my age or older- pulls in to a pump with a multiple pump hogging RV of some sort. I pull away to wait in the rain and he sees me; does nothing. What a discourteous D-Bag!
I am lucking to find some shelter across the street at an abandoned 66 station. A couple of Harley riders are there also and we discuss current events, like the cold. And the rain. And they inform me that it’s snowing “up there.” Unfortunately “up there” is where I was going in the Dixie Forest.
I am no stranger to the Dixie. I remember a particular ride through the top with a frozen fog cloaking me. A GS was pulled off to the side and foolish me kept going. I remember telling myself, “just keep it between the white lines.” And in truth I remember thinking “This is Great!”
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Maybe I’m older and wiser. Maybe not wiser, certainly older, and certainly scaredier. The Dixie had no appeal whatsoever with snow. Zero.

I ride on, and take an alternate route and get in and out of the rain, but never the cold, though my liner continues to pump out the BTUs under my rain suit. I, finally, for the evening get to Cedar City, Utah, in the rain, and cocoon for the night, for tomorrow is another day

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This is tomorrow.
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D.Wayne, where fore art thou?

___more to come

*“Hypo Full of Love” Alabama 3
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by angellr »

Doc, I remember those rains ... I was going to do that ride to the coast but there was not a dry route in or out of the state for days. Great write up, thank you!
-Bob-

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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Yes... the rains...

You saw that, huh? You saw the lovely weather that greeted me the next morning? Look at the bike cover? It could have been a metaphorical microcosm of my mood as I try to decide which way is ah-hmm, “best.”

I don't want to wait anymore I'm tired of looking for answers
Take me some place where there's music and there's laughter
I don't know if I'm scared of dying but I'm scared of living too fast, too slow
Regret, remorse, hold on, oh no I've got to go *


I’ve been across Nevada every paved way but one. My favorite has been the Extraterrestrial Highway route. Arguably it has more features: the Mailbox, the Li’l Ale-Inn, some curves, and it is more lonely than it’s parallel further north, US50 which sports the moniker, the Loneliest Road in America. It isn’t. On the short list, but The ET Hwy, as well as US 40 from Vernal to Steamboat, hell, you might as well be on the moon.
So I wanted to cross Nevada on the ET.
No-sir-ee, Bob, says mother nature. Oh I could have, but I faced the prospect of riding in “ Wintry Mix.”
Wintry Mix, sounds like something you’d have on a coffee table for guests, sounds like something for those suffering the munchies. Sounds benign, almost cute. Wintry Mix.

I hate Wintry Mix. Wintry Mix occurs when the weather is just perfect for Rain and Sleet and Hail and Snow to be all present AT THE SAME TIME. It could not be farther from CUTE, or TASTY, or in any way Attractive.

It is the Rosey O’Donald of weather.
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It really is.
The destination today will be The Golden State…Big Pine, with a pipe dream detour to the Bristlecone Ancient Forest. Five days from Southeast Louisiana, home of (ex) Gov (ex-con)Edwin Edwards …

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all the way to …

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Governor Moonbeam.
In 5 days. A cosmic journey indeed.

But, I have to get out of The Silver State to get to The Golden State. The only rational route because of the threat of Wintry Mix is to dive down I 15, through (Las) Vegas (baby) and come up . A monumental detour
In other words… this
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instead of this …
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It’s not so much the mileage or time difference, but the feng shui of the ride. But there are mitigating factors on the southern route.
I 15, as interstates go, traverses some pretty scenic areas as it goes through a small bit of Arizona. Vertical cliffs border the road as the road winds through. It is definitely picture-worthy if one could actually stop and survive. This is from Google and a random stretch of road, but it goes on at least this “textured” for quite a while.
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Then you pass through (Las) Vegas (Baby), and you’re in prime legal prostitution country. Just an FYI, it’s really expensive, just sayin’. And no one discusses Proust! Of course I wouldn’t do anything like that. And by "that" do I mean discuss Proust or the carnal basis of ambiguity, or Honeybunch Kuminsky? And did you know they charge by time? Small increments, too! That’s just like an anesthesiologist! And more expensive, and they do not have to pay malpractice even though all endings may not be 100% happy, some may be “just ok,” or “alright,” or “I felt a little rushed, you know?”

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I will say the Silver State does have some pretty scenery though. It’s barren, often desolate, but has vistas out the wazoo.

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As they say, the past is often prologue to the future and my luck with sunny skies just expired after too brief hours.

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And I turn left from US 95 onto Nv 266, a very fine road that keeps the number into California. It is just over there on the left and it never rains in California, or maybe that’s southern California. Must be the latter because I ride through Wintry Mix at 7400 ft at Lida Pass.
“Wintry Mix,” when I finally stopped to snap this; that’s ice on the pavement. That was a common sight it turns out.

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Nevada chases me out
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Into the Golden State, and I have arrived!

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___more to come


* My Silver Lining, First Aid Kit
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

My nephew's dead, who won for me such realms!
Against me then the Saxon will rebel,
Hungar, Bulgar, and many hostile men,
Romain, Puillain, all those are in Palerne,
And in Affrike, and those in Califerne;

–Song of Roland, Verse CCIX (i.e. 209; lines 2920–2924), 11th century

The origin of the name, “California,” is in dispute, but the earliest word, sorta, kinda, like California is found here in the Song of Roland as “Califerne.”

It refers to the Land of the Caliph. Arabic. Later (from Wiki) “California was the name given to a mythical island populated only by beautiful black Amazon warriors using gold tools and weapons in the popular early 16th-century romance novel Las Sergas de Esplandián (The Adventures of Esplandián) by Spanish author Garci Rodríguez de Montalvo.”

Whatever.
No beautiful black Amazons on my route it turns out, and most certainly not here on the border with Nevada. But what California does present me are the Sierra Nevadas.

These are some gorgeous hunks of granite.
They tower and loom, they dare you and tease you, They are come-hither and standoffish. They are beautiful. And that’s an understatement. The roads across are legend in motorcycle lore; steep, sometimes twisty, sometimes narrow, always scenic.

The weather was just starting to break for the better and I could see them in seductive splendor, hinting and charming and bewitching. And they looked way dangerous in an alluring way. A Siren call. Irresistible.

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I check in at the Big Pine Motel and the lady at the desk tells me two things of note:

1) the road to the Bristlecone Ancient Forest was snowed in
2) she’s seen more snow in the past two days, and the mountains are whiter now than they’ve been all winter.

Ouch.
I saw the turn for the Bristlcones, but it was late and I put it on back burner. I planned on Tioga Pass for the next day, and that was now impassable from said snows. In fact nothing north of me was passable. So there goes Plan A, Plan B was Sonora Pass with it’s 26% grade; did that a couple of years ago, but it too was snowed in. Plan C Ebbett’s Pass on Route 4? Snowed in. So I had to look south, but that’s for tomorrow morning because tomorrow is another day, right? Let’s chow.

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The Country Kitchen
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Did they mean “the morning after?” It was ok, and fine considering, I believe, the only “country kitchen” in town

This was good stuff
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and a little walk around town at sunset to walk off the dinner a bit

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A quiet night at the Big Pine—recommend it, btw—is followed by a glorious dawn, one of the few on this ride. Today I will make it to Menlo Park to visit a high school classmate and his wife.

Tioga is still closed! Damn!
So, instead of
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I have to do this
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It is a decent route as far as the Central Valley part, a very decent route, but not what I wanted and far longer. That said, I must mention that 395 up and down the eastern side of the Sierras is pretty amazing. The snow capped peaks are RIGHT there! For hundreds? of miles. Like forever.

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and side roads dive in with photogenic results

I believe those are the Alabama Hills in the foreground

I take a right on 178 and it is a very fine ride with elevation changes, scenery, sweepers, big a$$ yuccas, nice ride…
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and then on to Ca 155. What a road!, steep turns, winding, in a Deals Gap kind of way but far longer and you have Sequoias around you. Talking 1st, 2nd, rarely 3rd gear for me. It was a hard road, I thought with blind curves and variable radius turns, but it is one of the roads I definitely remember and wanted to remember to mention. Maybe I missed it, but I do not think I saw it in ADVrider. This is the route from 395 to the Central Valley.

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(ignore the time and mileage)

Riding the Central Valley, I now have to make tracks, no more fun if I am to beat the evening traffic. Traffic. Geez there is traffic on those big roads like 99. It’s like riding I-10 along the gulf coast, though maybe a little more interesting, but not by much.
I take a left on 152, and that is a great road with some real scenery, but it has lots of traffic, including big trucks and incredible winds.
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By the late afternoon, after making a wrong turn in Gilroy I make it to Louie’s, my classmate in Menlo Park.
And we chill for a couple of days.
Me and Lou
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and with his lovely wife, Bonnie at a great Vietnamese restaurant
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We tour a few of the local sights including Alice’s Restaurant where you can get anything you want, “ceptin’ Alice.”

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it’s a bike destination, especially on this Sunday morning

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We hit the coast for a bit
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visit Stanford

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and catch up on the past 50 years. Jesuit High, New Orleans, Class of 64.
The Blue Jays

___more to come
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

The Bay area and the coast are in my mirrors and it’s time for some busy work.
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I wanted to visit the Corbin factory for a "ride in" rebuild of my Corbin seat. It came with Blanche and it was accustomed to a different posterior, though still very comfortable.

I ride from Menlo Park to Hollister, get some fresh cherries and fresh guacamole and chips from a farmer’s market and await the next morning. California is a wonderful state for the tourist.

Arriving at 8 I am one of the first customers. If you are going to do this ride in service, be there first. The Corbin people do not rush any customers, and take their time for satisfaction. So, if you arrive later and are in-line for work, you may wait a while (hours).
I told them what I wanted to accomplish and two things I wanted to achieve were incompatible, one or the other, or a balance.
A little zen in everyone’s life is desirable if not a necessity sometimes, so we discussed a compromise. My seat was nearly rebuilt. The seat pan and the pillion area remained intact, but the front of the seat was completely rebuilt and I could watch this from about 50’ away. My leather cover was in good shape and it was reused. Two test rides and I was a happy camper. Put me in the PLUS column for the professionalism and quality of the place.

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My seat is being operated on by the guy with Corbin on his back, and this is the line of people awaiting service. Looks like they could work on 2 at a time.

I was done around noon, and I headed then to my second stop that is uniquely California motorcycle Mecca, Ted Porter’s BeemerShop in Scott’s Valley, about 50 miles away. Blanche also came with Ohlins.

I wanted them looked at to see if service was in order. The service interval on them is 12-15,000 miles (yes!), and mine were longer in the tooth than that. I know there are other shops that rebuild shocks around the country, but none at home, they send them away. Plus, I had dealt with them previously when I installed Wilbers on my r1150r. The customer service of this place is legendary, and I experienced it every time I dealt with them. They became my goto shop for all things suspension.
So, I spoke with Stephen there and although they were unable to do a rebuild, he checked out my shocks and though though the mileage was long, they seemed, looked ok. I did not notice any issues on the ride out, so we agreed that there was no need to hurry into a rebuild. Good news indeed, because rebuilds are not cheap. I have since had them checked at the Ducati store here, also an Ohlins dealer, and they concurred, and would not rec a rebuild at this time. Yes!

So, it’s about 3pm, I am close to the coast, and at this point, I am turning around and heading back home, days away.

That’s always a psychological milestone for me, e.g., turning around and heading back, the farthest west, the farthest north, etc. Milestone duly noted. (aside: Milestone and Millstone are only one letter in difference, just sayin')

I realized that morning that my plan to ride south and cross California by my originally planned southern route was not as desirable and heading back the way I had planned on heading out, so my direction from Scott’s Valley was toward Ca 120 and Tioga Pass. Yes! sounds like a plan.

I am on freeways for a long while. Ma GAWD! the traffic! and I was hitting it at the best time and going in the best direction, according to the guys at Ted’s. This was as good as it gets. Fast crowded signposts turns weaves and at speed. Not particularly dangerous though I was warned about Ca 17 being notorious for deaths and dismemberments and WORSE! and I could see why.
So, I went this way
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Before anyone chimes in, yes, I know there are far better ways, but time was a factor and I needed to make some miles.
And the next day would begin some very fine riding and scenery.

It’s the Best Western in Oakdale tonight with some tasty pizza from Round Table across the street.


Nobody's listening when we're alone
Nobody's listening, there's nobody listening,
No one can hear us when we're alone
No one can hear us, no, no one can hear us
And I've gotta get out of here
Sink down, into the dark
Keep on running *

“Dangerous” __Big Data

___more to come
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Someday I'll wish upon a star
And wake up where the clouds are far
Behind me
Where troubles melt like lemon drops
Away above the chimney tops
That's where you'll find me *


Actually on this Over the Rainbow morning I am found at the Best Western in Oakdale. I do the religious gymnastic ceremony of checking the oil on my r1200R, and Blanche’s lube is right on the dot, literally. I roll out now on the “good” part of 120 and head to 132 toward Yosemite. I pass through Claribel, California, bearing no relation to the clown of the same name.
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Ca 132
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It goes on like this for miles and miles. In truth there are lots of roads like this in California, but this is a good one and is representative.

I snake through a “J” (J20) road up to 120. Wonderful ride, narrow with twists and turns and nowhere to stop, on the way up to 120, which will take me through Tioga Pass.

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120 is a forested ride up to the pass at somewhat over 9900 ft elevation. There is a ranger station up there, at the pass itself, on the road, that tells you you have arrived. Somewhat after there is a turnoff. Where I meet a little guy just trying to make ends meet. He thinks I can help and is not too proud to beg.

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I have nothing, little dude, unless you take plastic.

This is where this guy lives, up at the Pass…
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this is the road as it descends
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and Chip (or Dale?) is persistent, and bold.
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I start on my way down, having heard that the vistas along the way are something special, and they are!

This is the side of Half Dome that is usually seen or pictured—from a couple of years ago…
Half Dome on left; Half Wit on right
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and this
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But from Ca120, on the Tioga Pass road, you can see Half Dome from the Full Dome side. Appears just as scenic to me, but definitely a different feel to it.

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ok, ok, I took a few shots, but look at it! IMO Yosemite is the king of the parks. The others are amazing, but Yosemite just raises the bar to an impossible height I think.

I don’t think there is anything in Bryce or Zion or Yellowstone to Acadia or etc etc that surpasses this
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Mickey never looked so good
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Ca120 ends at US 395, at Lee Vining, at Mono Lake, and the weather, or rather concern about the weather was never beyond the horizon, but rather teasing with it.

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I hang a right onto US 395, my traveling companion again, heading for Bishop or Big Pine or where I choose to stop for the night. But in the meantime I got me some Sierra Nevadas on my right that seem to be in the midst of battles among the gods of the weather. All else are pawns, throwaways. The sky, maybe a little threatening on the downslope of Tioga Pass, now becomes hostile and angry. Starts throwing things at me. I know the drill, I can feel the temp drop to the high 30s, my dash starts blinking at me warning me of the possibility of black ice—like there’s anything I could really do.
Then the drops start to fall, then in sheets. Then the hail starts.

Lemme tell you. You get hail big enough and it hurts. So, I am minding my own business, dealing with the cold rain, and it starts hailing. It’s kind of interesting watching it bounce off my windscreen, hearing it ricochet off my helmet, feeling it pelt my jacket and thighs, but what got my attention was it hitting my hands.
I have GS hand guards and I am wearing fully armored RevIt winter/wet gloves and the hail, which appeared to be the size of marbles or slightly larger-I guess it would be called “marble sized” on the 6 o’clock news—is stinging my hands, to the extent that I hear myself say “OUCH!” way more than once. And then something more manly or at least more colorful.

I look down and the road is now white with marble sized hail and I am seriously concerned about traction. I follow the slightly darker than white path of previous
vehicles, and in about 5 minutes or seemed like 5 hours, I was out of the hail. I’m think what else can nature throw my way. This was not my first Hail Rodeo, I remember a noteworthy time on US550 outside of Ouray, where those big a$$ switchbacks are, but this was worse because it was bigger, it hurt more and was more threatening to traction. Plug here: With all the weather I traversed, and there’s more to come, the Pirelli Angel GTS were superb and always confidence inspiring.

The sky starts to break a bit, a relative term, but sunlight appears here and there and is starting to illume the Sierras and their nether regions. Let’s stop for a pic or 20.

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This sunlight, as usual, was short-lived, but no-rain, and lasted just long enough for the Sierras to give up a little of their beauties.

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Though, the threat was always there…
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Mercifully, the downfalls, so easily seen, spared me for the rest of the ride into Big Pine.

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So, I got to do the Tioga, maybe not as planned, but still certainly done. I spend the night again at the Big Pine Motel, I again dine at the Country Kitchen, “where our food kicks a$$, “ and plan for the morning and what will be a long day in the saddle, with a certain detour into times past.

___more to come

* Over the Rainbow
Last edited by Dr. Strangelove on Sat Jul 11, 2015 11:08 pm, edited 1 time in total.
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

There was a time, when,
Peace I could not find.
Nothin’ to call my own; No job, no car, no home;
Lived in a one room shack,
All I had was the clothes on my back;
Used to be my only plan was to have a bottle in my hand;
Lookin’ back now I see, somebody was watchin’ over me.

Somebody was a watchin’.
Somebody was a watchin’.

Now my bad times’ better than my good times used to be.
*

Big Pine. Grows on you. The area is gorgeous. Accommodations and food are adequate, and the area is ripe for day rides. There is an ride report on advrider that turned my head. It was a guy that rode up 395 and took the roads that went up into the mountains, until the roads petered out. I think it was fall colors in the Sierras or something like that…in the past year. But, it shows what you can access by just dicking around 395/bishop/Big Pine/Lone Pine.
I am definitely now heading home though home is a couple thousand+ miles away. Still there is access to some interesting places and one is the Ancient Bristclecone Forest.
White Mountain Road T’s with 168 and heads up to 11k feet or thereabouts.

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From Dave’s Travel Corner:

“Turn left onto 168 as you drive south on the 395 and drive for about 16 miles until you reach the turn off for the Bristle cone Forest. This turnoff is just past the summit elevation of Westgard Pass which is around 7200 feet. NOTE: be extremely careful when you drive back down the Westgard Pass.
This is a very steep road and the brakes will easily overheat if you use them too much. I highly recommend taking your time driving down and gearing down to very low gears. Several times I have seen smoking brakes and smelled the terrible smell of burnt out brakes at the bottom of the pass.”
Schulman’s Grove is at about 10, 000 feet so in 10 miles you climb 3000 feet. Not too bad, but much is gently graded then blind curves, naryo road and what-a-surprise sections on switchbacks and climbs. Nothing really really steep, but the layout of the road is such that you really need to pay attention. I did, as it demands it, but for some reason I thought this road was way dangerous, one of the scariest. Can’t put my finger on it, maybe mountain spirits. The name Inyo itself means “dwelling place of the great spirit.”
I ride up to Schulman’s Grove. This is the area that was snowed in a week ago, now at the highest levels snow covers the ground, but the road is passable. The Bristlecones are the oldest life form on Earth. Living trees thousands of years old. Hundreds of years old trees are infants, a thousand or so are adolescents.
From Wiki,
“The Inyo National Forest contains the Ancient Bristlecone Pine Forest, which protects specimens of Great Basin Bristlecone Pines (Pinus longaeva). One of these Bristlecone Pines is "Methuselah", the second oldest known non-clonal living tree on earth, over 4,839 years old; the oldest known tree (discovered 2013) also lives in the park.”
The visitor center is closed and the ground is covered with snow, but there they are, the bristlecones. Trees that were here when Cleopatra put an asp to her breast
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Cleo and her famous asp
and when Socrates drank his hemlock
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demanding it with a twist
Long time. They live this high because of few natural enemies, a beetle or so, but the main enemy is us. A few years back an arsonist burned down the visitor’s center at Schulman Grove and everything was lost there. It’s back up.
The cones of the Bristlecones
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young trees
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The ride back down was no where as “scary” though it was hard to stop for pix because of the steepness of the road. The road is know for overlooking the Sierras, though the peaks are 3-4000 ft higher than this road.
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You can see the road hugging the mountainside
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Back on to 168 and headed to Nevada, but continuing to skirt along side the eastern side of the Sierras.
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deserted Nevada 264
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And is it just me, or does this bull seem to have a little too fancy spring? in his step?
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I cross Nevada, this time on the ET Highway, passing through downtown Rachel, Ground Zero, or near Ground Zero for conspiracy theorists.
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I know I’ve said it before, but there is something special riding across Nevada. It is a distance, a wide state, but the scenery is special, otherworldly, desolate with good pavement. You have to be prepared for it. Gas when you can, maybe carry some extra, just in case, and physically alert. It can be hard if the winds are not in your favor, but it is a mental exercise. “Mindfulness” can reign supreme along any of the routes, except maybe the most southern. It’s the land of the pony express, gun toting ranchers and Area 51. I never find it boring, and when I think about the trip afterwards the Nevada crossing always comes to mind. It seems that when people hear I rode out to California, the crossing of Nevada is invisible to them, but not to anyone who has done it. A challenge, eh, maybe not so much, but an experience, yes.
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Cedar City ends a long day with a long day on tap tomorrow, and then the day the trip gets its label, "Robert Johnson."


*”Somebody’s Watching Over Me” Pops Staples, Don’t Lose this
__more to come
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

A dear friend and (former?) member of this forum told me today that she reads the ride report here, on 1150, because comments don't get in the way, or something like that. Thought that was pretty funny, and true. Sometimes irony is funny. I do post this elsewhere where there's lots more traffic. :D

Oh strange beautiful grass of green
with your majestic silken scenes
Your mysterious mountains
I wish to see closer
May I land my kinky machine *


“Third Stone from the Sun”…Jimi Hendrix

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Did Hendrix peg it or what? You ever been to Anywhere, Utah or certain parts of Arizona. Or, maybe it’s me, but there are some landscapes that are magic. Mystical. Ones that take your breath and don’t give it back until you— they make you wait. Longer than the time from ringing the doorbell to the time she opens the door and you take her all in. And, like Genesis “It Was Good.”

From Cedar City I was rolling home. I thought I could make it to Gallup, NM, an unfortunate town having seen better days. And I could make it there, that night. I love New Mexico, wrote about it a few times, but not for Gallup, yet I often seem to land there for a night. On the way, though, on the way, I get to ride through one of those terrains I suggested above. The Vermilion Cliffs. Wrote about them too, yet I continue to seek them out, anywhere within a few hundred miles and I am there, riding along them, feeling their power, basking in their red, and staring at their front yard, green and flat, eventually creased by the Grand Canyon, miles to the south.

In short, the Vermilion Cliffs are pretty cool, for miles. And Miles. And miles.
From Cedar City I take a highway I’ve taken a few times though never this early in the morning, 815-ish. Last time I took it was at midday and what I remember was the attention necessary to deal with the greasy tar snakes. The time before it was blocked by a landslide and I took the road over Brian's Head (a curious name) and froze. This time, low 40s had the tar snakes behaving, as the road snaked, climbed and dove across.

Markagunt High Plateau Scenic Byway
SR-14 is forty gorgeous miles across the southern section of the Markagunt Plateau, east from Cedar City, to where it joins with Highway 89. This forested portion of land is governed by the Forest Service and open to many activities. Upon reaching the top of the plateau you will be at 11,000 ft. elevation. There are several scenic view points that look down into Zion National Park or out among the towering pine forest. Lava lined, Navajo Lake is picture perfect with the small lake framed by aspens and pines. The lake is interesting in that all water from the lake drains though sinkholes in the limestone beneath it. If you take the Cascade Falls Trail you will see the water spurting from a cave, which eventually goes to the Zion Narrows. 
(some website and true)

That view of Zion is best seen in the morning for the glancing light. I saw it and didn’t stop. There is an overlook there, but, sorry, dear readers, I got the heebie jeebies because of the parking area. It looked to be cambered in more than there planes and more than two dimensions. Just got the feeling that if I tried to stop there Blanche DuBois would depend on the kindness of strangers to help right her. Next time…next time.

So, I continued on the fine ride Utah 14 to Us 89, hung a right and rode the almost as fine 89 to Kanab and beyond, to the Vermillion Cliffs, via Jacobs Lake where you’d turn to go to the North Rim of the Grand Canyon—a very fine sweeper fast twisty ride, if Ma and Pa Kettle in their CruiseAmerica or Fifth Wheel don’t frustrate your testosterone laden indiscretions.
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In a few of the other ride reports there are lots of pix of the Vermilion Cliffs, but this time I got to explore one of those Navajo stands that sell trinkets. My nemesis, the rains were never far away.

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I continue on if I am to make Gallup. Gallup, “the most populous city between Flagstaff and Albuquerque. Gallup was also named as the winner in the Best of the Road Contest as the Most Patriotic Small Town in America for 2013.[2]
It is on the Trails of the Ancients Byway, one of the designated New Mexico Scenic Byways.” (Wiki)
I did not know that. I 40 does not lend itself to much other than straight speed, though I can attest to interesting side roads, that may go where you want to go. I rode them on some trip a couple of years ago, going through interesting Navajo Pueblos, and to the south, Zuni. To the north is a place I’ve wanted to go, but have been scared off by other travelers because of road conditions, viz, Chaco Canyon and its ruins. One year I was going to head there and a couple in a 4WD Jeep reminisced in unfavorable ways about the road. I needed to hear no more. Beam me up, Scotty.

Gallup looks poor, even by small town New Mexico standards. Maybe I saw the wrong parts. Someone correct me if I am wrong, but it seems to look a lot like this:
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and
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and, Word, again, for emphasis

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I will say that Garcia’s—the big a$$ yellow sign offering
BREAKFA
ST-SPECIALS
and
MEXICAN:
BUFFET: ALL -
YOU: CAN EAT:

was really pretty good road food, even though their frequent use of the colon is questionable.
The two guys that ran the place were pretty chatty, and one was very interested in my ride, and insisted I have some jello that he made.
It was damn good jello, got the fruit in it, chocked full of fruit actually, and red! And free it turns out.
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Garcia’s

I spent the night at the Days Inn pictured above, the cheapest place I stayed at $40ish and you get what you pay for. The dollar does go a lot farther in Gallup though.

My neighbors were a couple on a Goldwing who were headed back home to San Diego from Tennessee somewhere. We talked weather. No one needed to outdo the other, there was plenty to go around. They told me of a night in Oklahoma that they spent 4 hours in the shower because the tornado sirens were going off all night.
That’s the kind of weather that Dorthea Lange country was having. Serious $hiite weather
Oh yeah.
And such could be in my way to the Bayou State and home.
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by peels »

fantastic.

And agreed. there are landscapes out there that can change you. Having only done it on family trips CA to Iowa and back many times....At some point, I want to see it on two wheels.

For me, there are a few memories tied REALLY close with the landscape out there. Salt flats... then deserts with mountains in the back. Then hit the mountains. This country really has it all. Drive all day then go to some of those little mountain towns, stop in a local food joint. Great memories.


ride safe.
2002 R1150R. Helmets save more lives than loud pipes.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Thanks, Peels, appreciated


So if you meet me

Have some courtesy

Have some sympathy, and some taste

Use all your well-learned politesse

Or I'll lay your soul to waste

Pleased to meet you

Hope you guessed my name

But what's puzzling you

Is the nature of my game*

A sinister kid is a kid who
Runs to meet his Maker
A drop dead sprint from the day he's born
Straight into his Maker's arms
And that's me, that's me
The boy with the broken halo
That's me, that's me
The devil won't let me be**

I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
I went to the crossroad, fell down on my knees
Asked the Lord above, "Have mercy, now save poor Bob, if you please”***


Lots of songs about “The Devil,” but most are by groups like Iron Maiden and Judas Priest, Metallica and Alice Cooper. Crap. These songs about the devil are the carnival devil, the one with the goat face, wings, hooves, the one that looks scary, the one that would put anyone off.
No, not that devil. The real Devil is someone so much more appealing. In The Last Temptation of Christ, the movie, a little girl, curly blond hair. (Politically correct change compared to the book, btw, but I’ll leave that for you, reader.) The real devil can give you…stuff. Stuff you want. And it never ends well, just ask Joe Faust, or, you could have asked Robert Johnson.

Robert Johnson was maybe the most influential bluesman who ever lived. He grew up in sorta kinda my neck of the woods. Born in Hazlehurst, died in Greenwood, Ms; 1911-1938. Buried who knows where, at least three graves are in contention, the most likely was the one described by the grave digger’s wife. She said, years later, it was under that pecan tree in a potter’s field. Sony and Columbia records beg to differ, each setting up their own “grave” markers.
But the grave digger was there the night he was some-say murdered by the husband of the woman who he had “eyes” with as he played.
His friend told him,” Don’t ever drink from an open bottle a stranger gives you,” and took the bottle away…threw it down, all dramatic like. They sent another bottle and Robert grabbed it, didn’t let it go, drank it as much in contempt as in lust, and hours later he was dead…well three agonizing days later he was dead. Died at a white man’s house. Didn’t call a doctor because he wasn’t one “of his Negroes.” Strychnine? that was the talk, but as everyone (then) knows, it’s hard to cover the smell, even with whiskey, and it does kill much faster, you know. Poison? uh, huh. Strychnine, probably not. He died too slow. Grave digger was there. Saw it. Watched him breathe his last, the man who was inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in 1986, the first class of inductees.
Grave digger says he buried him in a unmarked grave under that pecan tree, the man Eric Clapton called the most important blues singer that ever lived. Grave digger was at the white man’s house, took the body of the man Keith Richards thought was two when he heard his recordings for the first time, “Who’s the other guy playing,” he asked. Brian Jones said “just him.” Grave digger told his wife where and it wasn’t until much later she was asked, long after Sony and Columbia laid their claim.
The wiles of a forbidden woman, the lure of liquor, many a downfall.
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As a boy he knew Son House, knew Willie Brown, heard them play, sat in. “Late in life, House remembered Johnson as a "little boy" who was a competent harmonica player but an embarrassingly bad guitarist.” (Wiki)
Then Robert Johnson disappears for a while only to return. It is said that he went to his birthplace to look for his father and “learned other styles (of guitar) from Isaiah "Ike" Zinnerman.[14] Zinnerman was rumored to have learned supernaturally to play guitar by visiting graveyards at midnight.[15]When Johnson next appeared in Robinsonville, he had seemed to have acquired a miraculous guitar technique.[16] House was interviewed at a time when the legend of Johnson's pact with the Devil was well known among blues researchers. He was asked whether he attributed Johnson's technique to this pact, and his equivocal answers have been taken as confirmation.” (Wiki)
Pact with the devil. Not the goat devil. Scary devil, the other one, the one that can teach you guitar, not teach, Give you the gift. Legend has it that Johnson took his guitar to the crossroads of Highways 49 and 61, where he made a deal with the devil, dressed as a bald large black man who took his guitar, played it, retuned it, and handed it back. The price—Robert’s soul.

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The lyrics from Crossroads Blues above are said to reference his change of heart.

So, how does all this apply to me: Why the Robert Johnson ride?

I leave Gallup and I am heading to Big Spring, Texas, for the night, then College Station, then home.

As I am getting close to entering Texas, I see off to my right dark clouds from way high to the ground, obviously heavy rain I see where I am going and I think that I am possibly able to skirt around it. It is this:

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That is my route. I hit that bit of rain to the north, no big deal, make it through, take a picture of the good part of the sky to my left.
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The other way doesn’t look so hot, but again, I think with some speed and some luck I will skirt around it.
I get to the “crossroads” of US 82 and Tx 137. I take a right and into the room where I will consider risking my soul

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from google

You saw that red dirt a picture or so back. It was on both sides of Tx 137. To the east it just was canopied by a rainy day sky. To my 2 o’clock, all h e l l was breaking loose now. I still thought I could outrace the storm, those very dark clouds I saw off to the right, and I flew in the remaining dry air. 75-80, passing everything. Everything was letting me pass, they saw it too. I thought of Moore, Oklahoma. I thought of “rain shrouded tornadoes,” there was most certainly rain out there over those red fields. Middle of nowhere Texas, a big freaking storm, I am trying to outrace coming at me from my flank.
I see lightening, big bolts out there to the right. Vertical, fat. I consider am I insulated by the Pirelli’s, decide theoretically yes, but practically no and I would only serve as a bloody resistor. Maybe if I rode faster I would be a harder target and the telephone poles are taller than me.
I look again at the red dirt fields and I am now looking for stuff, red dirt, boards, stuff coloring the air above the ground now seeming to only be about a mile away. I don’t see anything but the overwhelming darkness of the rain and anger of the skies. Just to the left I see what could be a break in the clouds. That’s the good news. the bad news is that that break is illuminated by a very peculiar aqua green color, very pleasing to the eye, but oh $shiite! I look again for red mud dancing on the ground, still no, but I am now looking maybe a half mile away, still passing anything on the road, hauling a$$, still dry.
I look into the clouds for funnel clouds, no funnel clouds, but there is a funny one, more or less “scrotum” shaped. Yes, that’s what it looked like and mine was becoming clearer and clearer to be on the line. It was just hanging there, right there, and I am distracted by a huge lightening bolt up ahead, no longer to my right but horizontally crossing the road. This is not good. Then another now on my left. This is worse. there is no shelter, no place to stop, only the progressively diminishing hope that I can out flank this thing.

The first big drops hit, fat drops, drops with legs, a wave of them, a staccato of automatic weapon fire. BRAAAP, a moment of nothing, then suddenly full force. I am soaked in less than a minute. My visor is now splattered inside and out, and fogged. I glance to my right for the rain shrouded tornado that I know is there and consider my mortality, for a moment, can’t say how long.
What physically happens next is the straight line winds, right to left, trying to blow me into oncoming traffic. And the rain is stinging and blinding and I am slowing down. Hard to see. Gonna maybe go off the road, maybe hit by a local. there is a shoulder. Later research (as I am not writing this from the grave) informs me they were steady at 60 mph, with gusts, and about 90 degrees to my direction of travel.
Ok, I am getting ahead of myself. Something happened between those last two paragraphs. There are moments that can define one of these rides and this is it. Not something I am proud of, but part of the appeal of these endurance rides is what you learn about yourself.

What happened here, between these words:
“glance to my right for the rain shrouded tornado that I know is there and consider my mortality, for a moment, can’t say how long.

RIGHT HERE, and this moment was maybe a few seconds long

What physically happens next is the straight line winds, right to left, trying to blow me into oncoming traffic.”
Right there was a moment of some kind of clarity. All h e l l is breaking loose around me, and I think of Robert Johnson selling his soul to the devil to play the guitar. And I think, no, I don’t want to do that, I’ll take my chances. Not going to offer to sell my soul. I think of my obituary, and how people may write that I died doing what I loved to do, riding my motorcycle on backroads cross country. And I think the back story is, Really? outside of Lamesa, Texas? Taking foolish chances? Really? I think there is a “cool” factor to it, but not now as I have decided I want to live forever—recent development. So far so good as thoughts go with a near death experience, then the last thought crosses my mind. This one troubles me still. That thought is the one about the “deal” you make with God, that if you just get through this, then I will do (or NOT do) such and such. I am thinking this and I decide, with full frontal lobe activity, that ,no, I am not going to do that either, because I do not trust myself to keep the promise, to honor my end of the deal, and I thought the the risk of pi$$ing off God because of a promise, made outside of Lamesa, Texas, during a thunderstorm, ok, maybe deadly tornado, was worse than actually being killed in the storm. And I remember chuckling a little, hoping God was on my side and had a terrific sense of humor. That’s what happened right in that spot. That revelation to me that I would rather die than break a promise to God, has lasted with me and I’ll always remember it. I truly do not know the significance of it. I don’t know what I should learn from it, but 12 years of Catholic catechism and I come up with that? I don’t know and please don’t analyze.
It was the eye of the storm psychologically, but after that thought I was slammed to the other reality by those winds with the rain.

I struggle to ride on a bit but eventually pull to the shoulder, just giving up on continuing, taking my chances as a stopped vehicle in blinding wind and rain.

A big truck pulls along side, passenger opens window.
“You got to get out of this!”
I open my visor, Yeah I know!
“You have to find a gas station with an awning!”
OK! Where?
“About 3 miles up the road!” In this weather it might as well be 300 miles.
Then
“There’s a hospital about a half mile up!”
Great (ironic and perfect)!
“Show me the entrance with your blinker!” it was that blinding that I could not see the drive to a hospital.
And they do, and I pull in under the portico, out of the weather, counting my lucky stars and deal free!.

I go in the lobby of the Medical Arts Hospital. The American flag is fully erect, the cables banging loudly, thunder and lightening outside like there’s no tomorrow-and for many in Texas during the recent wrath of the weather there was no tomorrow.

I leave a puddle of rain water on the floor. I find a bathroom to dry off a bit with paper towels.
This is me in the hospital a little after the worst of the weather.

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I am ready to make a move. 40 miles to Big Spring, but the worst of the weather had passed. I think.

As I am getting ready to go a couple of nurses appear and we chat. They warn me to watch out for flooded streets. Right. Great.

The first flooded street is the street outside of the hospital, good ole Tx 137. I do not chance turning right onto the roadway through water God knows how deep. I plow through and across the street, and then back onto 137 heading into downtown Lamesa, where EVERY intersection was flooded, with currents, flowing pretty quickly. I watch cars and trucks go through as I await my turn. there was NO PLACE to stop, Lamesa not being the most cosmopolitan of Texas towns. There were at least 10 intersections with deep water crossings. Almost or maybe axel depth. I could feel the radiator forging its way through as I revved high in first and feathered the clutch and churned through blind to what may lie under the waves. It felt like the rear part of the front fender was catching water. But, Blanche pulled me through, and I make it to the big highway, 87, and I am on my way when the rains start again, not deadly, but annoying. And I take a breath and 87 is mostly no standing water, when I see my oil light flashing red. Oh man! wtf! I’ve never seen that before and I am hoping it just means I am a little low on oil, I have oil!. But, I really don’t know if it’s that or irreparable damage to the engine from trouncing it through the flooded streets of Lamesa.

I stop under an underpass, put in 250 ccs of oil and MIRABILE VISU! the light goes out . I settle in for a cold wet ride into Big Spring for the night, somewhat knowing or suspecting the regret Robert Johnson felt at the end of his days.

*“Sympathy for the Devil”…Rolling Stones
**”Sinister Kid”…The Black Keys
*** “Crossroad Blues”…Robert Johnson

epilog to follow
Last edited by Dr. Strangelove on Sat Jul 11, 2015 11:05 pm, edited 1 time in total.
'09 Schwarze Blanche DuBois
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Epilog

The next couple of days went pretty smoothly, the only fly in the ointment was that I wanted to stop at Cooper's BBQ in Llano. I was thinking about one of their pork chops all morning. I get there around 1pm on a Sunday and the line is around the block (almost). Ugh. Not gonna happen.

I ride on to my friend's house in College Station, Spend the night and the next morning I head home, about 350 miles and 7 hours to New Orleans. On the Bonnet Carre Spillway I caught some late May South Louisiana rain and it felt gentle and warm. After wintry mix, near death experiences, it was only cooling and felt very good actually.


On the day I rode through Nevada, so long ago, westbound, that was the day after B. B. King died. In Las Vegas.

I was listening to XM 70, "Bluesville" and they were playing lots of BB King cuts. I am not a big blues music person, a little goes a long way, but the stuff they were playing just resonated somehow. For much of my adult life BB King was there, not on every playlist for sure, but always something to savor. So, when I found out that he would be buried in Indianola, Mississippi, in the heart of the Mississippi Delta, I promised myself I'd go, visit the grave, show respect.

A couple of weeks after I got home I had a little time and decided to do an overnight up there. It's not that far from New Orleans, as the crow flies maybe 3-4 hours, but I took "the long way," backroads, Civil War routes and discovered some very fine scenery and roads that made the trip to Indianola over 8 hours. I had a patient recently that lived in the area and she recommended a particular restaurant there, NOLA, that she claimed was not named after my hometown, but it really was. While there I visited the BB King (for "Blues Boy" btw) Museum and it was remarkable. So very good tracing the life of BB as well as the plight of the poor and the African Americans in the Delta during the latter 19th and 20th centuries. Lots of historical videos and photos, just a very special place.
I had ridden through the Delta before, from Pt A to Pt B, never as a destination in itself. There is an atmosphere there that you can feel, and once you do, you sort of "get it." BB King always said he wanted to be buried in Indianola, Mississippi and his final resting place is at the Museum bearing his name.

Right now his grave is only marked by a pile of dirt and a floral arrangement.
I was told that eventually there would be fountains and stone and a mausoleum, but there was a certain poetry to the simplistic grave there now. Ashes to ashes, dust to dust, full circle. He was born, Riley B King not far away and at one time worked at the cotton mill that now is part of the museum.

As I was trying to think of a title for this ride report I drew on the atmosphere I felt in the Delta on this ride and on a previous ride through Rosedale, not far from the "Crossroads."
"Nobody seemed to know me, everybody passed me by.
Well I'm going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side.
Going down to Rosedale, take my rider by my side."


Most of the titles included rain, but that ride together with this one and my denied deals with both the devil and with God, pointed me to another title.
The Robert Johnson Ride.

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Blanche DuBois and BB

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The thrill is gone
It's gone away for good
The thrill is gone baby
It's gone away for good
Someday I know I'll be open armed baby
Just like I know a good man should

You know I'm free, free now baby
I'm free from your spell
Oh I'm free, free, free now
I'm free from your spell
And now that it's all over
All I can do is wish you well

"The Thrill is Gone"... B B King

Thanks for coming along. If you have any questions about any of the places mentioned please ask

John
Last edited by Dr. Strangelove on Sat Jul 11, 2015 11:14 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Buckster »

They ought to change the name of this part of the forum from "Great Rides" to "Epic Dr. Stangelove Rides"!!
Thanks for sharing your ride as it is more of a story with the always amazing photos.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

Thanks, Buckster, hope you're doing well! The diehard 1150 guys abide.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by sweatmark »

Buckster wrote:They ought to change the name of this part of the forum from "Great Rides" to "Epic Dr. Stangelove Rides"!!
Thanks for sharing your ride as it is more of a story with the always amazing photos.
Ditto that!
Thanks, good Doctor.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

thanks

On my laptop, some of the pix are cut off on the right, my desktop displays fine. Don't know what that's about, but prob user error, meaning me

These rides are addicting
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by sweatmark »

Dr. Strangelove wrote:thanks
...
These rides are addicting
I will ask once again, nicely: please give me a heads-up for your next trip west, and thus rationale for my own journey to buy you a beer at one of those quaint Americana cafés with witty waitresses.
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Re: Travels with Blanche DuBois: The Robert Johnson Ride

Post by Dr. Strangelove »

I did not forget. But i wasn't nearby. Originally i was planning a much greater ride heading up thru Lolo and i was gonna head your way.
Youre on the list :D
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