Adventures of Riding the Four Corners of the United States by Motorcycle
Day 6 - The Independent Republic of Texas
Leaving this morning at 5:45 a.m., we rode into the purple haze that would soon evaporate as the sun rose, filling the horizon and staring at us as we motored eastward. It seemed like only moments of driving in the very fresh, cool air and new light of dawn before we were in the great state of Texas, hitting Interstate 10, which would be our home for the better part of the next 3 days. After getting through El Paso we realized folks here are in a hurry. With the speed limit at 80 mph (125 kph) we were passed by a steady string of vehicles (we managing to pass only a few heavy laden out-of-state transients and a black bilge belching transport that was unbearable to follow). We were happy to cruise along at a brisk 75 mph.
Strange as it may seem, we were stopped at a "border patrol" car check spread across the freeway and asked our citizenship. When we proudly said "Canadian" it was if we had admitted to being part of a jihad. "Where is your passport?" the uniformed man asked (all the while his female partner was waving truck after truck through as aimlessly as a green light). We showed our ID and were skeptically waved through (at least we didn't have to explain what in heaven's name we were doing in north Texas). Our confidence in our sacred Canadian image was as frayed as the flags we flew on our aerials. This feeling of being in a foreign land was only entrenched when the India-born owner of the restaurant where we ate lunch noticed the flags and said "You must be very hot here instead of in Canada with the snow". He too was skeptical of our response, choosing his version of Canadian folklore of the great white north.
It was in this same single building restaurant/gas bar (with pull tab and slot machines), Plateau, Texas, where we discovered the bulls. They had just been roped off the range by two very legitimate-looking cowboys (dusty 10 gallon stetsons, chaps, and a drawl that made understanding almost impossible - although they seemed to have a similar problem with my accent). One offered a ride on his horse in exchange for a ride on my bike. I feared that I would be the double loser so diverted the conversation to unintelligible Canadian-eze and he shrugged, took another draw on his slushy as he climbed back into his pick up and drove off with the bulls in tow (for some constructive purpose I imagine - and not a rodeo). We were in Texas for sure, which explained the Country radio stations that dominated the airwaves (my favourite is "God is Great, Beer is Good and People are Crazy", really, that is a big hit for Billy Currington based on the number of times I have heard it here). Chorus is:
We talked about Gods grace
And all the hell we raised
Then I heard the old man say,
“God is great, beer is good and People Are Crazy”
3:30 (now Central Time) brought us to Fort Stockton, suffering from too many hotels and too few oil rigs operating. Supper followed at none other than "K-Bob's Steakhouse" (Tiffany the server did not know who "K-Bob" was). Don't worry Sheri, Georg remains fully committed to staying on the wagon. I had a steak as a tribute to Texas (what else could I do).
Another great day of riding. Only a little more than 400 miles today but we are pacing ourselves so that we savour this gift of time and not rush through it.