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Published: December 12th 2008
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Preoria, UT
Many westerns were filmed through here. Thanks Troy. Great tip. As I had planned, upon leaving Albuquerque was go time. I logged 1250 miles in two days, anchored by a 730mile leg from Albuquerque to Nashville. I picked up my new rack in Albuquerque as I had planned, but it seemed like I was missing a couple of parts. I got up early that day to get the work done, but it looked bleak and I decided if I wasn’t going to fix it then it was time put some miles under my tires. Before reaching Nashville I noticed that I had lost a bolt in the precarious rack set-up, and that it was truly hanging on by a shred of worked over metal (a piece that was ripped open and that I worked back together with a rock, you tell ‘em John, a rock.). Nashville is actually a pretty cool town, to tell you the truth I had no idea what to expect.
The following set of circumstances set-up the biggest crunch time in the trip so far, sans getting to Haines to catch our ferry. I was digging Nashville and wanted to see it during the day, and perhaps not on a quiet Sunday night. I also needed
some time to work on the rack, as it was going no further in its current condition. The thought of a box coming off at 70mph can be haunting. Hang out in Nashville another day? Coming in from the southwest was a storm front expected to sit over the entire area for the next week. On top of that it was getting darker earlier and colder all together.
It was then a Monday so I was able to call the rack people and get the scoop. Turns out that I had the necessary parts to make the system work. It was a project anyway for sure. Finding a hardware store in Nashville took me at least an hour. That sucked. Removing the broken rack was also no simple task. Have you ever tried to loosen a mangled, twisted bolt? It’s kind of scary. It took tons of force and WD-40, but I was on the verge of tears the couple of times I thought I stripped it. I also giggled like a schoolgirl when I finally managed to get it free. Did I mention I left my gas cap somewhere in Arizona and replaced it with a towel stuffed
plastic bag? First class. I am sure that the people of the Music City Hostel, whose parking lot I turned into a motorcycle repair shop, thought I was a little nuts. With plenty of sighing, grunting, and mad scientist/little schoolgirl giggling I was able to mesh the new rack, with my old top rack, and get the whole thing decidedly attached to my bike’s frame. It was glorious to stuff my boxes and have the whole bike bounce, rather than just look at the box dangle in the wind. The only drawback was that it was already 4 and I had less than 2 hours of daylight. I knew I wouldn’t be able to completely push out of the storms path, but any dry ground would help.
I pushed to Lexington where the temperature was a balmy 32 upon my arrival. If you are wondering, yes I was shivering and my toes were in my boots, but I couldn’t feel them. When I woke up the rain had caught me, but it was only a drizzle that I was sure I could ride out of in an hour or so. From there it was one more stopover in Morgantown,
West Virginia before pushing across Maryland and Pennsylvania to meet my nephew. Oh yeah and see my brother and sister-in-law.
In some ways, it was nice to actually be somewhere, so I spent a whole 2 days at my brother's with my sister-in-law, nephew, and my other brother too. Despite what had been the declining condition of my bike, with needed maintenance piling up (the short list; the water pump is shot, chain and sprockets worn out, valves in need of adjustment, and did I mention my new fangled gas cap?) the goal was Brooklyn, NY. So, Brooklyn bound I was. I ripped across the familiar RT 78, through the Holland tunnel($7 w/motorcycle discount), got my sweet shots under the Brooklyn Bridge, and then made my way over the Manhattan Bridge where I touched down. Shortly I would be reunited with my sisters.
I must admit the hurried ride across the plains; onto the rolling hills of Tennessee and Kentucky, over the fading fall colored mountains of West Virginia, into the familiar farm land of southern Pennsylvania, was all a bit anticlimactic. I don’t know if it was because my thoughts were drifting back, reflecting on the trip,
or forward into the unknown. Although I had already waited so long, I felt like I couldn’t wait any longer to meet my nephew.
One more thing about Nashville. I'm walking around late on a brisk, quiet Sunday night searching for the lure of the Music City. The main little strip of Nashville is really a nice setup. It rolls downhill towards the river with lots of vibrant bars, tons of live music, and surprisingly interesting architecture. As you would assume there are plenty of honkytonks with lots of country music. Suffice to say, country isn't necessarily my favorite flavor. So I'm walking and walking listening for a few blues riffs, a rock back beat, somewhere with some music that wouldn't drive me nuts. I catch a couple of rock riffs and figure it's as good as any, might as well go get that beer, because at this point, I'm quite thirsty. I think I spent $4 on a pitcher of beer and sat down to enjoy some music. Turns out that they too were country, which at this point I think is funny as hell, because I'm in for the pitcher. They're taking request, someone else was looking
for rock, and the guy offers that he can do a little Mustang Sally. Gladly they did not. Anyway, a couple of songs go by and they call up a guest singer. I should let you know that maybe, maybe there are 15 people in the whole bar. Anyway, I'm one of 4 people sitting generally in front of the band when this guy comes up, and this girl keeps begging, "Sing me something, pretty. You better sing something pretty." Not like she was nagging, but despite my best efforts, I'm laughing my ass off now. Then the guy goes to me, "Hey what do you want to hear?" So, there I am drinking cheap beer out of a plastic cup in a honkytonk bar. I'm really just completely entertained, thinking about everywhere I've just been, all the excitement and challenges along the way, coming to terms and thinking. Is this how this ends? But who am I to argue? What do I want to hear? "Sing me something pretty!"
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