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- Joined
- Mar 6, 2004
- Messages
- 13,333
- Reaction score
- 192
- Location
- Plantersville
- First Name
- Rebecca
- Last Name
- Reed
Day 4: Missouri or Bust
Stinky and I had stopped off for some food on our way back into camp the night before, so it was bacon and eggs for us! The camp stove fired up like a charm as if it hadn’t been sitting unused for the past year and as the bacon sizzled we got the gear packed up and readied the loaded down bikes.
Bike after bike (and Busa after Busa) came roaring around the curve adjacent to the campground. Stinky said we were right on a wonderfully curvy section of 187 and that he’d show me on our way out.
We both had an extra day to play, so we decided to head up to Missouri to get on the ferry (and break her little wings) since Stinky hadn’t gone that far north on previous trips.
My Chatterbox was giving off a high-pitched squeal when I tried to talk, and then it would go dead. The battery indicator showed full life and it was plugged into the bike, but we couldn’t get it worked out. I opted for just music for the rest of the trip.
When we pulled off for our first gas stop of the day, the GPS froze. Great. I tried sticking a safety pin in the only hole that could possibly be a reset, but it did nothing. Um… Yeah, electronics hate me.
Stinky has a GPS, but he didn’t have any of the routes loaded because he relies on others and is a follower on the road. Well, I knew we wanted to get on a road that gets straight on the ferry so we did a search in his Mio and it found three or four choices. Peel sounded familiar. I sure hope I’m right.
We headed out, him leading and me bopping along to my music behind him. We weren’t taking a very fast pace, which was fine with me. Other than turning and heading south at some point, there was nothing planned for today.
We got to the ferry just as they were loading up – we got lucky. The last time I was here I had to wait almost an hour for it to return from the far bank and get us.
It was a quick ride, and we were on the other side and on our way within minutes. Since my GPS was still frozen, I don’t have a track map for this section but it was a blast! Rolling lefts and rights in sequence – the tire marks from the motards we’d seen on the ferry were still fresh on the pavement.
We stopped for a late lunch at McDonalds and I made a call to Becca “RocketBunny” to see if she knew the secret to shutting the Quest down when the power button wasn’t working. She gave me the secret combination of buttons and it worked!
The motard riders were across the street at the gas station getting “talked to” by local law enforcement.
Someone is starting to look a little sleepy.
Just for kicks, we asked the GPS how far we were from home. I was much farther than Stinky was, but we decided we weren’t done with the fun yet. We could still afford some wandering time to scope out the land.
I guess the late start had us deceived, because it started getting chilly and the sun was beginning to set. We decided Hot Springs was a reasonable destination for the night.
At the next gas stop, we decided that tired eyes and bouts of body-shaking sneezes would not allow us to get as far as Hot Springs. Let’s settle for Little Rock.
Nope, we never made it to Little Rock. We pulled off the highway near Conway, AR and found a listing for Economy Inn on the GPS. All we need is a place to lay our heads and a safe place to park the bikes.
I was tired and already dreaming of my head hitting the pillow. I misjudged the driveway to enter the parking lot for the motel and hit the curb head-on. I was up on my pegs to absorb the shock of what I estimated to be an inch between the street and the driveway. Instead the bike took the blow of a five inch curb. All I know is I head BAM – SCRAPE and I was laying on the ground on my right. I might have closed my eyes.
I got up and stood with my back to the bike with a grip on the bars and the rear rack. I lifted it a few inches and heard metal scraping. I’d never tried to pick the bike up when it was fully loaded before, and it being over farther than horizontal wasn’t helping. The front tire was up on the curb and the back was in the street. This was all happening in oncoming traffic.
Stinky asked if I was ok, and after nodding my head he proceeded to laugh his butt off while blocking traffic with his bike and unhooking himself from his gadgetry. Why does it seem like my close calls, near misses, and crashes all end with someone laughing at me? I guess it’s better than someone crying over me.
A couple in a pickup pulled over next to us and he hopped out, “Hey dude, hold on, I got ya”. I realized my hands were shaking so I stepped off the street and onto the curb to unhook my helmet and take my gloves off. “Oh, uh… I’m sorry ma’am” was all the poor guy could muster, then some grunting as he tried to pick up the big pig; “this thing’s heavier than it looks”. Stinky chimed in with his usual heckling self, “She’s a chick, she packs too much”.
I thanked them for their help and reassured them I was Ok. All I’d hurt was my pride.
I looked over the bike and was amazed at how little damage there was. We got the bikes parked next to the entrance where the clerk said they would be lit and on camera all night, then unloaded them and threw all the gear in the room. There was spilled fluid on a few parts of the under-belly, but everything looked to be intact and it was running. Whew. Biwwy would NOT have liked to drive out here with a trailer for another Stom!
We walked next door to the Waffle House and had a few laughs over some breakfast goodies. It was now past 11 and tomorrow was looking to be a long day with a lot of slabbed miles to get home.
(ok, only one day to go...)
Stinky and I had stopped off for some food on our way back into camp the night before, so it was bacon and eggs for us! The camp stove fired up like a charm as if it hadn’t been sitting unused for the past year and as the bacon sizzled we got the gear packed up and readied the loaded down bikes.
Bike after bike (and Busa after Busa) came roaring around the curve adjacent to the campground. Stinky said we were right on a wonderfully curvy section of 187 and that he’d show me on our way out.
We both had an extra day to play, so we decided to head up to Missouri to get on the ferry (and break her little wings) since Stinky hadn’t gone that far north on previous trips.
My Chatterbox was giving off a high-pitched squeal when I tried to talk, and then it would go dead. The battery indicator showed full life and it was plugged into the bike, but we couldn’t get it worked out. I opted for just music for the rest of the trip.
When we pulled off for our first gas stop of the day, the GPS froze. Great. I tried sticking a safety pin in the only hole that could possibly be a reset, but it did nothing. Um… Yeah, electronics hate me.
Stinky has a GPS, but he didn’t have any of the routes loaded because he relies on others and is a follower on the road. Well, I knew we wanted to get on a road that gets straight on the ferry so we did a search in his Mio and it found three or four choices. Peel sounded familiar. I sure hope I’m right.
We headed out, him leading and me bopping along to my music behind him. We weren’t taking a very fast pace, which was fine with me. Other than turning and heading south at some point, there was nothing planned for today.
We got to the ferry just as they were loading up – we got lucky. The last time I was here I had to wait almost an hour for it to return from the far bank and get us.
It was a quick ride, and we were on the other side and on our way within minutes. Since my GPS was still frozen, I don’t have a track map for this section but it was a blast! Rolling lefts and rights in sequence – the tire marks from the motards we’d seen on the ferry were still fresh on the pavement.
We stopped for a late lunch at McDonalds and I made a call to Becca “RocketBunny” to see if she knew the secret to shutting the Quest down when the power button wasn’t working. She gave me the secret combination of buttons and it worked!
The motard riders were across the street at the gas station getting “talked to” by local law enforcement.
Someone is starting to look a little sleepy.
Just for kicks, we asked the GPS how far we were from home. I was much farther than Stinky was, but we decided we weren’t done with the fun yet. We could still afford some wandering time to scope out the land.
I guess the late start had us deceived, because it started getting chilly and the sun was beginning to set. We decided Hot Springs was a reasonable destination for the night.
At the next gas stop, we decided that tired eyes and bouts of body-shaking sneezes would not allow us to get as far as Hot Springs. Let’s settle for Little Rock.
Nope, we never made it to Little Rock. We pulled off the highway near Conway, AR and found a listing for Economy Inn on the GPS. All we need is a place to lay our heads and a safe place to park the bikes.
I was tired and already dreaming of my head hitting the pillow. I misjudged the driveway to enter the parking lot for the motel and hit the curb head-on. I was up on my pegs to absorb the shock of what I estimated to be an inch between the street and the driveway. Instead the bike took the blow of a five inch curb. All I know is I head BAM – SCRAPE and I was laying on the ground on my right. I might have closed my eyes.
I got up and stood with my back to the bike with a grip on the bars and the rear rack. I lifted it a few inches and heard metal scraping. I’d never tried to pick the bike up when it was fully loaded before, and it being over farther than horizontal wasn’t helping. The front tire was up on the curb and the back was in the street. This was all happening in oncoming traffic.
Stinky asked if I was ok, and after nodding my head he proceeded to laugh his butt off while blocking traffic with his bike and unhooking himself from his gadgetry. Why does it seem like my close calls, near misses, and crashes all end with someone laughing at me? I guess it’s better than someone crying over me.
A couple in a pickup pulled over next to us and he hopped out, “Hey dude, hold on, I got ya”. I realized my hands were shaking so I stepped off the street and onto the curb to unhook my helmet and take my gloves off. “Oh, uh… I’m sorry ma’am” was all the poor guy could muster, then some grunting as he tried to pick up the big pig; “this thing’s heavier than it looks”. Stinky chimed in with his usual heckling self, “She’s a chick, she packs too much”.
I thanked them for their help and reassured them I was Ok. All I’d hurt was my pride.
I looked over the bike and was amazed at how little damage there was. We got the bikes parked next to the entrance where the clerk said they would be lit and on camera all night, then unloaded them and threw all the gear in the room. There was spilled fluid on a few parts of the under-belly, but everything looked to be intact and it was running. Whew. Biwwy would NOT have liked to drive out here with a trailer for another Stom!
We walked next door to the Waffle House and had a few laughs over some breakfast goodies. It was now past 11 and tomorrow was looking to be a long day with a lot of slabbed miles to get home.
(ok, only one day to go...)
Squeaky has already agreed to be my 2nd wife.
