Rango Springers's
50CC Ride Report

Rango Springers
50CC Ride Report 

Tuesday

I clicked the CD player until Willie started singing “On the Road Again.” I had just pulled out of the Hilltop Motel in Kingman, Arizona. It was day two of what I hoped would be a six day adventure across the country and back. My real goal was to complete a ride from San Diego to Jacksonville, Florida in less than 50 hours. The Motorcycle Touring Forum was sponsoring a ride and all the necessary witnesses were furnished. However, today would be my only “leisure” day and I laughed as Willie serenaded me out of town. As I placed my tank bag on the bike, the Screamin’ Meanie alarm clock went off in the parking lot of the motel at 6AM. The Meanie is designed for long distance truckers and others that want to make sure they awaken on time. It puts out 120 decibels, which makes some auto theft alarms sound quiet. After struggling to find the thing and finally turning it off, I mounted my bike and departed post haste, having made no new friends in Kingman. My journey took me to Lake Havasu City where I stopped at the Big Boy restaurant for breakfast. Lake Havasu City is the home of London Bridge and about 15,000 very wealthy folks who apparently enjoy living in the middle of a desert near a somewhat famous foreign landmark. I continued southward on a state highway that followed the Colorado river and then ventured westward into California. Stopping at the Imperial Sand Hills, I chatted with some other riders. One of them told me the sand hills continued southward some 60 miles into Mexico. After informing him that I was headed to San Diego, he told me of a road that would be much more enjoyable than the interstate.

I took his advice and enjoyed 65 miles of nice twisty roads into Escondido. I then cruised on down the interstate to San Diego, meeting the other riders that would depart for Jacksonville the next morning.  We had a group supper that evening with the riders, witnesses and friends. As riders discussed their plans, someone mentioned the “race” across America. I was briefly taken aback, because this ride is in no way a race of any type. Yes, there is a 50-hour time limit, but that can be done by averaging just over 47 mph. There is no prize for finishing earlier than anyone else. The ride is about time management, good planning, and endurance. But then the rider continued, “Yep, everyone out there on the highway wants to get ahead of the car that’s in front of them. It doesn’t matter if it’s the trucker, the pizza delivery guy, or the soccer mom.”   I thought, “You are so right, everyone out on the highway is in a hurry, and wants to get in front of whoever happens to be in front of them.”  After a toast to a safe and successful ride, we departed to our rooms for final preparations. 

Wednesday

Riders gathered at the appointed gas station at about 4:30 the next morning. A group of three of us decided to ride together to at least the next fuel stop together. After getting the required witness signatures, we headed east towards Arizona with Pacific Ocean sand and water safely stowed in specimen bottles. As we traveled through the mountains east of San Diego, the temperature dropped to 44 degrees with gusty winds. I turned on my heated jacket and wondered how long I’d have to leave it on. My question was answered as we entered Arizona. The mercury rose to 75 degrees on a very pleasant and sunny day. As my riding companions exited at Yuma for their first fuel stop, I waved and wondered if I’d see them again before we reached the Atlantic ocean.

The ride across Arizona and New Mexico was for the most part uneventful, almost boring. A terrific sandstorm in New Mexico was the only excitement to be had. At Fabens, Tx., my riding companions pulled up to the gas pumps as I was pulling out. I asked if all was fine. They gave the thumbs up and I headed east. Around Balmorhea, a wild pig crossed the highway in front of me, reminding me that deer weren’t the only things I’d need to watch for. My next stop was at an unmanned 24-hour pay-at-the pump station in Bakersfield, Tx.  It was about 9PM, dark and in the middle of nowhere. As I finished fueling, I heard voices. Some guys had driven up to within 50 feet of me. They had come in with their lights off, and I couldn’t see them at first because the fuel pumps were between them and me. I jumped on the bike and headed out to the interstate as quick as I could. The guys headed off in the opposite direction. I don’t know if they were going to try and rob me or not, but that is what I think their intent was.

My goal for the day was to ride slightly over half way, which would put me in Boerne, Tx. for the evening. At about 12:30am and only 25 miles out from Boerne, I got very tired. I pulled into a rest stop for a short nap. I set the Meanie for 20 minutes. I woke up in 15, and headed on in to Boerne with no problems.

Thursday

At the motel, I asked for a 6am wake-up call. I woke up the next morning at 8:30 am. Lesson learned. Set the Meanie as a backup! The first day had been so boring that it was almost laughable. The second day was to become a comedy of errors that had me laughing at myself all the way in to Jacksonville.  At Houston, I got on the HOV lane and ended up in downtown Houston.  I couldn’t find my way back to I-10, so I programmed the GPS to take me to my next gas stop, which was at the west edge of Houston. The GPS got me back to the highway, but not without showing me a lot more of Houston than I wanted to see. Forty-five minutes later I arrive at my gas stop, which was 17 miles from downtown Houston.

My next stop was Baton Rouge. My unexpected late departure and Houston error placed me in Baton Rouge at 5pm on Thursday evening. Rush hour. Hour being the operative word here. Another rider pointed out to me later that the people in Louisiana are a happy people. They are a contented group of people. They are perfectly happy and content to drive 60 to 65 mph in the left lane all day long on the interstate. Crossing into Mississippi and Alabama, I now was catching a second wind. I had covered seven of the eight states and had but one to go. Stopping outside of Tallahassee for fuel and a cup of coffee, I noticed a cruiser rider that had his bike loaded down, almost as if he had everything he owned on the bike. I remarked, “You’re loaded for bear, aren’t you?”  “Yep”, said the rider, “I got everything ‘cept a fondue set and a craps table, but think I could make either one of them with the other stuff I got if I needed ‘em! Hell, all this stuff only weighs 65 pounds, less than a skinny woman, and got a lower center of gravity to boot.” It was late, about 12:50am, and I was having some difficulty absorbing his information. I wasn’t for sure, but I think he was saying that he was more content traveling with all these worldly possessions than with a woman, regardless of her size. I nodded in some sort of agreement. I asked where he was coming from and he said he’d had a long day. He’d ridden almost 350 miles and was about to call it a day. I thought to myself, “350 miles, that was just past my last gas stop!” We wished each either well, and parted ways.

I was now within 200 miles of my goal, life was good, traffic was light and I was only a couple of hours behind schedule. About 40 miles outside of Jacksonville, I checked my GPS and set it to the waypoint “Ocean 2”. The GPS locked up and wouldn’t do anything. Great. Just Great. I hadn’t bothered to get a map of Jacksonville, because I have this wonderful technological marvel that tells me where I’m at, where I’m going, and when I’m going to get there…..and doesn’t the Interstate end in the ocean anyway? I made an unscheduled stop and reset the GPS, removing the batteries and reinstalling them. It worked and I was back on the road again. Another thing about GPS technology is that they won’t always take you on the “best” route available. Remember the Houston fiasco?

Well, the GPS routed me down 14 miles along Atlantic drive in Jacksonville to the beach, all at 40mph with traffic lights that were on timers and not synchronized. At 3:30am, I didn’t see the humor in this little idiosyncrasy of the GPS. I roll in to the ocean and grab my sand and water from the beach. As I walked to the ocean, I looked back at the bike and raised my hands in triumph to the non-existent audience. I won! I won! That pizza guy stopped to deliver a pizza along the way. The truck driver stopped to flirt with the waitress at the truck stop. The soccer mom stopped and dropped her kids off at the field. Only I remained! The exhilaration was short-lived as I set my GPS for the last gas stop, which would be my official stop time. As the GPS guided me to a used car lot that had no pumps, I was a bit bewildered. It was 4:30am, and my brain needed a break. I drove up and down the street thinking it had to be close. Not finding it. I stop at another station and fuel up, getting an official stop time of 4:41am. I then set the GPS for the motel, and it guides me directly to a motel. Problem is, it’s not my motel. The motel’s address is 305 North 1st street. Or maybe it’s 305 South 1st street. I do a U-turn and drive the six blocks to 305 South 1st street. Another motel, but not mine. It’s late, maybe the first motel really was mine…..so I do another U and head back.  Nope. Definitely not my motel. Now, I’ve pre-paid $108 for this room, and I am already seeing that I’m not going to spend more than 4 hours in it by the time I find it. So I am going to find it. I see a convenience store and pull in. I pull my folder out to double check the name of the motel. I walk in and ask the clerk, “Can you tell me where my motel is?”  “What’s the name of it?” she asks. With a dumb, blank, tired look on my face, I can’t recall it. I have to walk back out to the bike and look again. I walk in the door repeating, “Best Western Oceanfront, Best Western Oceanfront.”   “Oh, Best Western Oceanfront, that’s in Jacksonville Beach,” she states.

“Jacksonville Beach? You mean I’m not in Jacksonville Beach?” I ask, totally bewildered at this point. “No, you’re in Atlantic Beach, Jacksonville Beach is about 2 miles south of here. Just go down to the big Bank of Wachovia and turn left.” I follow her directions and go directly to the motel.

The desk clerk laughs as I walk in, saying something about where have I been and that my friends got tired of waiting for me. One of them had arrived at about 9:30pm, the other at midnight. I ask for a wake-up call at 8am and set the Meanie for 8:15am.

Friday

 I shower and lay down, but my mind is racing and I can’t sleep. It’s almost 6am. I fidget for an hour and a half before rising for the continental breakfast. At 8:30, I’m packed and ready to head east. I call Jake, one of my riding companions and tell him I’ve arrived and I’m ready to leave. He and I decide to ride back to Texas together. After getting our paperwork witnessed at the station I couldn’t find the night before, we say our goodbyes to the other riders and depart. I ask him to lead, as I’m tired and not sure of my way out of Jacksonville. He promptly heads to a highway a couple of blocks over and we’re soon traveling at 70mph. I laugh, thinking of the 14 miles I did only a few hours ago at 40 mph, probably two blocks over from the highway.

After being unable to find a vacant motel in Lafayette or Opelousas, La, we stop at a truck stop/casino outside of Bunkie, La.  A lady at the casino makes a couple of calls and tells us she found a room in Bunkie. Not the kind of place I’d recommend taking the family to, but what’s the old saying about ‘any port in a storm’?

Saturday

The final day of my journey was uneventful other than riding in a good rainstorm from the Louisiana line to Denton, Tx. Jake was riding on up to Lamar, Co., so we said our goodbyes at a truck stop in Amarillo.As I slowed the bike pulling in to Dumas, I clicked the CD player again until Willie started singing my song, and thought about where my next ride would take me.

 

Footnotes:

 

Gas Stops

 

 

 

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