- Joined
- Jan 1, 2005
- Messages
- 4,491
- Reaction score
- 1,287
- Location
- Buda, TX
- First Name
- Rich
- Last Name
- Gibbens
Okay, how do we top this? We've ridden 80 miles of dirt, visited the Alamo, The Jersey Lilly Saloon, and the Lonesome Dove set and we still have 3 hours remaining.
"George, ever been to Dodge City? You know, the one in Kansas. Where Wyatt Earp was sheriff. And Wild Bill Hickok too? The place all the Texas cowboys drove the cattle too."
"No, can't say I've been."
"Look, we're in the groove. It's only 750 miles from here so we've got plenty of time to go there and still get to Austin on time. Whaddya say?"
"We can't stop now. Let's do it!"
We gassed up in Langtry and made a bee-line for Kansas. Two hours later we arrived on Front Street, maintained just the way it was in the 1880s. It's a very cool place.
I was a little tired, so I rented a room for an hour in the Dodge City hotel and took a nap. I was roused from my sleep by some ruckus going on in the street in front of the hotel, so I went out to have a look see.
That darn Wyatt Earp was bullying some poor cowboy. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that. I don't care how fast with a gun that man is. I figured I was well rested. It had been the best day ever on a bike. I could ride further and faster than anyone in history. Maybe I could draw a pistol at the same speed. So I challenged him to a showdown. I'm sure I'm faster than him. I mean, how old is he now? Like 160? Oh yeah, I got this.
I borrowed a rig and we faced off in the middle of the street. A hush fell over the entire town. Doors closed. Windows shut. The wind blew up a little dust. Somewhere in the distant an eagle sounded off.
Wow, that Wyatt was a LOT faster than I figured. He beat me by a 1/2 mile, despite his advanced age. I took two bullets right through the chest, fell to the ground and died right there.
Once the commotion settled down they summoned the undertaker who put me in a pine box. They put me on display there on the main street for a day. Oh well, it had been the best day ever on a bike, but it was over now.
Well, that's the end of my story. Thanks for reading but I'm gone now so I have to stop writing.
"George, ever been to Dodge City? You know, the one in Kansas. Where Wyatt Earp was sheriff. And Wild Bill Hickok too? The place all the Texas cowboys drove the cattle too."
"No, can't say I've been."
"Look, we're in the groove. It's only 750 miles from here so we've got plenty of time to go there and still get to Austin on time. Whaddya say?"
"We can't stop now. Let's do it!"
We gassed up in Langtry and made a bee-line for Kansas. Two hours later we arrived on Front Street, maintained just the way it was in the 1880s. It's a very cool place.
I was a little tired, so I rented a room for an hour in the Dodge City hotel and took a nap. I was roused from my sleep by some ruckus going on in the street in front of the hotel, so I went out to have a look see.
That darn Wyatt Earp was bullying some poor cowboy. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that. I don't care how fast with a gun that man is. I figured I was well rested. It had been the best day ever on a bike. I could ride further and faster than anyone in history. Maybe I could draw a pistol at the same speed. So I challenged him to a showdown. I'm sure I'm faster than him. I mean, how old is he now? Like 160? Oh yeah, I got this.
I borrowed a rig and we faced off in the middle of the street. A hush fell over the entire town. Doors closed. Windows shut. The wind blew up a little dust. Somewhere in the distant an eagle sounded off.
Wow, that Wyatt was a LOT faster than I figured. He beat me by a 1/2 mile, despite his advanced age. I took two bullets right through the chest, fell to the ground and died right there.
Once the commotion settled down they summoned the undertaker who put me in a pine box. They put me on display there on the main street for a day. Oh well, it had been the best day ever on a bike, but it was over now.
Well, that's the end of my story. Thanks for reading but I'm gone now so I have to stop writing.
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