Originally Posted by Petey2006(No)C50C
How many days and how many miles?
Be safe out there.
Well, one day and a 250 mi RT turned into 2 days and 350.
Morning of day one started out good with the first leg to Bagdad.
They just resurfaced the stretch from 93 to Bagdad which is a fun little ride with lots of twists and turns, although it was so fresh, they hadn't gotten around to putting the lines back down.
The lines really help to let you know what's coming up.
We were anticipating breakfast in Bagdad, and stopped at their "Famous" diner.
Since it was so nice out, we decided to dine out on their patio.
After alerting our waitron we were there, and suggesting she could save one trip by bringing coffee when she came out, we sat awaiting her arrival.
We sat, then we sat some more....followed by more sitting and satting.
She finally arrived with our coffee, and we eagerly placed our orders in case we never saw her again.
Twenty minutes later she returned, and asked if we'd like more coffee.
Indeed we thought, more coffee would be welcome.
She returned with coffee, and we never saw her again.
A half hour went by, our cups were empty and cold.
My stomach turned over and grumbled, then I began to.
I looked at my wife, who was so famished herself, she only had the energy to roll her eyes.
I was left to figure that the waitroid was probably aimlessly wandering around inside with our order still on her pad, residing in her apron.
She was also probably wondering why the cook was standing there with nothing to do, two people starving on the patio, and no tickets on the wheel.
Somehow, I assume she was unable to connect the dots.
After an hour of waiting, we left a few bucks on the table for the coffee, and decided that we, just like the waitron, would never return.
We stopped on the way out of town to at least feed the bike.
Unfortunately, they were out of premium, and I had to top off with some regular that was probably amongst the dregs and water at the bottom of an 60 year old tank.
So, we got no meal, the Victory got a crappy one, and we were now a good hour behind schedule.
We headed on down the road towards Prescott valley, grumpy and hungry, which wasn't so bad until we hit the end of the newly surfaced road. The next some odd miles of old road were now strewn with paving debris.
Lots and lots of tarred gravel all over the road.
I guess they forgot to send the broom out to clean up when they were done.
Riding on sand or little tarred marbles like that causes excessive wear on my seat, and my ass.
About 40 miles down the road, we came into the very small town of Kirkland.
There stood an old steakhouse and bar, which we assumed had died with the town long ago when all the miners and cowboys left, yet there standing out front was a couple groups of bikes and riders.
I figured why not?
We pulled into the lot, and it appeared that the place was indeed open for business.
We walked into the place, and it was a huge joint with a large bar, many many tables, a small stage, juke box, 2 pool tables, a shuffleboard table, and two of the oldest people you ever saw running the place.
The couple had been operating the place over 25 years trying to keep it going.
We asked, and sure enough, they had food.
At the top of their hand scribbled menu tucked into a sheet of plastic was the writing "Homemade BBQ beef sandwich.
We figured since it was at the top, it must be their claim to fame, and most likely the quickest thing offered.
The place had been around since the 1800's and looked like it, although it was well maintained, and looked like a place that rocked back in the day with monster steaks, lots of whiskey, live music, crowds of cowboys, fist fights, and of course hookers.
We quickly got served two BBQ'd Hair sandwiches, two salads, and two bags of chips.
Actually it might have been beef, I don't know because I never ate any of that LLoyd's bbq out of a tub before, but that's what it looked like; nonetheless, we would have eaten BBQ'd buzzard at that point, so anything was welcomed.
After choking that down, we re-geared, and headed off to this Arizona burg called Dewey.
We were now almost 2 hours behind schedule, and began to figure that the coals at Limoman's had probably gone out some time ago.
In fact, we wouldn't have been surprised if they had just up and went back to Boston.
As we zipped past Kurt and Linda's almost indiscernible road, Siri said "Turn left, your destination is on the right!"
We slowed down, did a flip, and turned into the driveway at limoland.
Kurt, who is obviously some sort of slave driver, had a crew of Mexicans up on roof pounding away replacing the shingles...On a Sunday no less!
We knew for certain we were at the right place. The wagon wheels on the front porch were a dead giveaway.
We had a smoke and shed our gear.
It was apparent that throughout all the roof banging, they were unaware that we had arrived.
It was also apparent with the same amount of noise, they wouldn't be able to hear a knock at the door, so I just opened the door and let us in.
Kurt and I sat out under his gazebo in what will certainly turn into his own little Margaritaville in time.
A nice deck with multiple levels, a gazebo and a hot tub adorn the backyard.
We listen to mexican music blaring over the worker's radio, discussed the old times we never had together, and smoked cigars.
Fortunately, the coals hadn't been lit yet.
Unfortunately, they didn't exist.
Neither did the burgers and steaks I had highly suggested as a tribute to our trek into the unknown to meet two people we had no idea of whether or not we would walk out unscathed from after meeting.
We chatted for a good while, then were joined by the wimmings and some trimmings of a salami, cracker and cheese plate.
We were having a delightful time, until it occurred to me that I had forgotten the two hour interruption of our time table, and that we were now late in starting the trek back home.
I was planning on being home approximately right around dark, because like many, I fear the crap out of riding at night, especially in that area, where not only are there untold numbers of big truck tires scattering the highway, there are also huge suicidal moose and deer that would love nothing more than to T-bone a motorcycle barreling down the road at night.
We quickly said goodbye, snapped a pic or two for proof of the occasion, and were off.
Although a bit longer, we decided to take the 4 lane home instead of the backroads.
We drove the 10 miles or so to I-17, and I turned onto the highway onramp to Flagstaff.
As I was pulling the clutch in to grab third...Snap! went the clutch cable.
I carry a number of tricks and tools in my little bike bag, minus spare cable and ends.
A quick call, and Kurt was right there with what little he had around the new place. (The guy isn't even close to moved in yet.)
A few pairs of pliers, and some assorted wire were all that were needed to Macgyver the clutch into working again, but due to one fitting that had to be removed, it took much longer than it should have.
We headed north towards Flag, it was obvious there would be no way we'd be home before sunset.
I was also at that gamble point with fuel of whether or not we'd even make Flag.
I saw a shell station in the distance, and decided to fuel.
Just across from the station was a motel called Motel in the pines.
It was going to have to do.
It was an ok room for 55 beans. It had everything one would expect, except why do motel operators think folks only need 1 little bag of coffee and another of decaf to go with their miniature Mr Coffee maker?
I need a whole pound to start my day!
Neither of us slept well, and upon waking, we realized we both had the same dream of having heart attacks in our sleep!
Ok, so no more chicken fried steak sandwiches from gas stations!!!
This morning I got up deciding to tighten whatever kind of silver looking wire it was that we used to fix the clutch, because the clutch wasn't completely disengaging.
As I was preparing to adjust the wire, I noticed another loop of wire on my frame from whence my gremlin bell used to hang.
It became clear to me why my clutch cable snapped.
It was then something else also became apparent, and that was this:
Mysteriously while Kurt and I were chatting and smoking cigars, he got up and announced that he had to go see what the girls were doing.
I thought this strange, because when two unknown guys are bonding, the one thing they are most grateful for is the lack of their woman interfering, casting judgement, correcting huge tales, or offering their two cents.
Yes indeed. There is no question in my mind.
The person who excused themselves from the table, obviously got up, went out to my bike, and confiscated my precious gremlin bell for themselves, thereby causing my cable to snap, forcing me to spend the night in the hotel of nightmares eating crappy chicken fried steak sandwiches.
Volusia Riders. Ha!
I need a new forum!
tl;dr: We met Kurt and Linda, had a good time, an adventure, and returned home safe.