I hit the road Friday afternoon. Packed and buckin' a 40mph headwind. Windy as shit. I get to the first gas stop and noticed my new "Mighty Max" battery is dead. No lights. I get out the tools, plug in my battery eliminator - back-in-business. I go 65 miles to the next stop - and see my canvas tool roll (loaded with all kinds of special tools for my chopper) and my new rain suit pants and jacket are gone. A sole blue bungee dangles in the wind - my pack is loose. My kit had some expensive tools, vintage tools and sentimental tools given to me by motorcyclist who used this stuff for years . . . and they were happy to see me have it. It was a mental downer to say the least . . . The wind was out-of-my-sails for this ride. I gassed up and rode back about 10-15 miles - nothing. I decided to continue on - anyway.
I run the Hwy 65, Hwy 30, back on I-35S with a gas stop in Ankeny, Iowa (America's overcrowded shit hole). Fake fuckers everywhere on phones wearing Under Armour bullshit. One stop light went through 3 sessions before I finally rode over the grass and sliced through "stagnant traffic" proudly wearing my Splitting Lanes helmet decal . . . just to get a gas pump that was so close the last 10 minutes - I could have thrown an egg and hit it. Never, ever, ever go to Ankeny, Iowa ! Gassed with a new harder attitude, I blast back out on I-35 in rush hour traffic . . . pointed south to Des Moines. Hand shift, no front brake, (lights? - I don't even know if my brake light is working, and unless I hold my hand up to my headlight, I don't know if that's working either - I don' t really care right now.) I blast into the heart of DSM, left lane I-235 - I take the Hwy 69 Exit - and in 20 minutes - I arrive in Indianola - the stop for the night. Indianola Bike Nite with over 4000 motorcycles. Crazy.
A really good shop - and he suggested the Crouse Cafe for breakfast . . .
I was just tired and spent after all this . . . with variable lights, my generator making a grinding sound - and it's raining again - I make a heavy-hearted decision to turn back. No Kansas City - again. I've been derailed on my quests for KC since May. A flood, an injury - and now a mechanical. I'm kinda dejected - but Ricky told me . . . "It's better to have tried, and had a failure - then to not try at all." which are very good words to live by. Thank You. On my way back, I get to Collins, Iowa - and it's looks like a freakin' tornado ahead. I'm riding in bright, hot sunshine at the moment. The temp drops about 20 degrees in 2 miles - and it looks bad ahead. Then, there's a detour ! A farmer, driving a totally radded out rust bucket Ford - tells me to take this gravel a mile or two - and you'll be right back on 65 again. For gravel, it started out not too bad, but over a slight hill - it turned into chopper Motocross. Slick, soupy sandy shit - like quicksand. I could hear the mud and slime clogging into my front-mount voltage regulator - hell, I don't have any lights anyway - who gives a shit? Right? I finally meet up with my friend Willard & Jodi at a bar called "Flatheads" (named after the catfish) in St. Anthony, Iowa. Another 80 miles and I'm home. I need a drink, and some rest. The bike gets parked - it's ragged out - but running like a champ.
A 360 mile Pointless Adventure?
But not - depends how you look at what life throws at you . . .