Day Seventeen - Day Twenty-Three : Nasvhille, Tennessee - Lexington, Kentucky

This day of riding, will be the third but certainly not the last time I will find myself crying on this epic voyage. I am so eager to get to Kentucky to see my friends Killian and Kate McStay. This visit will also be my first main stopover and a few days rest which essentially splits my trip in 2 halves as it were. I am well passed my half-way mark and I'm looking forward to a well deserved rest.

I'm on interstate for another few hours before I hit the Bluegrass Parkway which avoids Louisville and cuts NE across Kentucky towards Lexington. This road brings me tears, it is a pretty drive but it's not necessarily beautiful or breathtaking in anyway. I haven't seen anyone I know in over two weeks which is something I'm well used to but more importantly I'm about to see some of my closest friends and on the ride I'm having another moment of pure happiness. I'm seeing close friends but it took me that little bit of effort to get here. I believe as I pulled into their house my odometer just turned 14,500miles (I started with 10,000miles on the clock).

Me working very hard in Killian's stable

I cried only for a moment on this Bluegrass route and not since Oklahoma did I push the engine to it's upper limits (it does a little over 100mph at full tilt). I can't get to Lexington fast enough. Despite anticipating another speeding ticket, I reach Lexington, and Google maps gets me to Killian and Kates house on Tearose Drive. They were both waiting when i arrive. I knew Killian would be back around the same time I got in but to my joy, he was aready home when I arrived. It was just great to see them, simply great. 

I immediately present them with their gift which Brad (in Tucson) and I had beautifully prepared. There's a long story behind Killian and his love of bricks. I take partial responsibility for this but let's just say that I like to give Killian bricks as gifts, it started a few years ago and long do I plan to maintain this new tradition. He received one spontaneously a few years ago when he moved to America (a brick which years previously he had adopted as his pet). He and his wife Kate received a red brick from Grafton Street as their wedding gift (mounted with brass plaque), and now they receive their third brick of a currently growing collection.

'Heisenbrick' at the famous Octopus carwash

The brick I brought them was used to crush the blue glass beads to make the fake crystal meth. Brad and I super-glued some of the blue crystals onto the brick in the shape of a 'H' and Brad cleverly coined it Heisenbrick (a Breaking Bad reference). I carried this brick on the bike for over 2,000miles from Arizona to Kentucky, and luckily they loved it, the third brick to their collection. Once I was showered and beered, we joined forces with Kate's mom, Vicky and went out for a hefty meal. I had chicken and waffle covered in maple syrup; delicious, but filling, I believe we went out drinking heavily that night, a general run around of some bars to try some local beers and get in on the bourbon culture. Killian, Kate and I go home drunks as skunks. Killian goes to bed while Kate and I stay up having a heart to heart until Killian has to go to work, which is just after 5 in the morning. He is surprised to see me when he returns from work later that day, he obviously knows I am in Lexington having spent the night with me but I guess we both are in disbelief that I am actually in Kentucky and seeing what has been his life for the last 3 years+. I had promised them both for years that I would visit them Lexington. I never predicted I would show up on a bike.



My first full day in Kentucky I spend with Kate's brother John. John is as individual as they get. He has really great and refined interest in art and photography, his bed is a hammock which he hangs across his living room. His kitchen is compact but full to the brim of all things wonderful, mostly photographs, paintings, and books (one art and photography). Before Killian and Kate's wedding in April, and for as long as I've known Kate, she has said I would love her brother as we are similar in nature. I believe she had said the same to him prior to the wedding and sure enough we got to know each other during the week-long wedding in Ireland. It should also be noted here that both Kate's mother and father are both fantastic people themselves. Naturally I met them both at the wedding and I was really fond of them both. I would not consider them alike in any way. Kate's mom, Vicky is a smiling, warm and motherly person. She is soft spoken but giggly, if I dare say she is a little liberal which I like and sounds like she may have been a bit of a hippy back in the day. I love all the inside juice she has on Kate and John as children, or the early days of Killian and Kate's relationship and she reflects on these memories with good heart.

Kate's father Dick is a different character altogether. He also tells fond and funny stories of his children growing up. He is opinionated and outspoken but by no means, in a bad way. He too is great for a chat and he tells me stories of hunting deer, the various guns he had, encounters with bears, riding old enduro bikes through forests and he talks to me about his business running a camp site which I never knew of this man who had a large chunk of his life bogged down in the horse industry. He is old but he is bright. I really like this guy, I think it's partially the nursing instincts. In fact, I told Kate that if she really needed, I would stay and look after her dad til he was back on his feet. I was selfishly looking for an excuse to stay although Kate would tell you I didn't need one. 

John and I went hiking in Red River Gorge for my first day. I am now familiar with the tobacco barns spotted around the place and the rolling hills but John shows me places I am hugely grateful to see. We started the day with the famous Miguels pizzaria, actually it's nowhere near the start of the day, it has taken us all day to get to Miguels pizzaria and despite having had breakfast, it is now time to eat again before we go out hiking. They prepare delicious pizzas well known mostly to climbers from all over the world who are ever present on the Red River Gorge. John and I took hundreds of photos and saw some beautiful sites. The climbing was tough in places and I thought I was definitely going to die one stage (Grays Arch, Red River Gorge, Kentucky (Google it!)). I had to face my fears and live it. I had to pull out my 'just-fucking-do-it' card, to be able to climb this stupid 80 degree incline. There were very few hand holes and the rock was wet as it had been raining constantly all day. No ropes, no helmets, flat smooth wooden soled boots; one foot on the rock at a perpendicular angle, my other foot on a tree opposite which is growing up through this rock formation. John who had climbed ahead (and had been here hundreds of times before) kept talking about the ultimate grab hole which he was guiding me towards, pointing exactly to where it was; it was centimeters out of my reach. "There's one hole here but the 'ultimate grab hole' is HERE", he says, pointing at my options as I look up probably looking like an orphaned lamb. I don't want to take a chance with the lesser of the two graspable holes although the better of the two is further away. It's a Catch 22 situation. I could feel the grab hole which was closer. In my hungover and weakened state, I didn't feel confident taking my whole weight on this mediocre grab hole, I had to lunge and grab 'the ultimate grab hole' swinging my way around the rock. If I fail, I face at a 50 foot drop to my likely death, If I succeed, I live. John is fearless, he is wild and eccentric but he is a soulful, peaceful and a realistic human being. He tells me to stop, breath, relax, reassess and only then to go for it. It was by no means impossible but I hit a psychological wall which John helped me break down. He spends the day literally running and bouncing off these rocks, skipping up and down paths. The whole time I'm wondering if his family have any idea what he is getting up to, but also the beauty he is seeing.

Killian has NEVER been to Red River Gorge despite being John's brother in law and having lived in Kentucky for 3 years now?....... 

Kate took me to a polo game which was near where she had a photo shoot. It was a wedding shoot the day after the day of, but the newly wed couple had scrubbed up well given the hangover they both had. I was recruited to hold a big reflector thing (reflecting the sunlight into the peoples faces with the big reflector sheet item). Kate appreciate's my assistance but I think she and I both know I loved doing it. I told the groom that today, I am the shining light!


I had the privilege of taking Kate on a ride about the country side of Lexington (I guess she took me but I drove). People are understandably fearful of getting on the back of a motorbike, Kate's not one of these people. I had taken Kate on a motorbike ride around the Dublin and Wicklow mountains years previous on a very similar motorbike. She says it was the very first time I met her but I'm not so sure. I think I enjoy the ride a little more than she does as she has seen it all before.


The countryside was magnificent. We visited a graveyard, Kates childhood home where she grew up, some stables and lots of tobacco barns, each one more obscure than the last, big old wooden shacks 20 foot tall but look like you could knock them down with one blow. John Lossen's job is to collect this wood and reclaim it for other projects (Longwood Antique Woods, Lexington). We also go to Keeneland the epicenter of horse racing in Kentucky. I luckily get a photo of me and my bike in the starting gates which are usually used for the horses on race day. Conveniently they had been put in the car park while the track was being resurfaced.

Later that night Killian and I go shopping and do some brief man bonding as we still look at each other in disbelief that we are together in Kentucky. We buy beer and a BBQ and likely some other useless items. I got myself some Poptarts (when in Rome). We had a cook out later this evening with 30 odd people. The people weren't odd I'm just guessing. The evening was accompanied by a down pour of rain and Kate's fathers failing limbs. Dick is a gas old man who can be socially awkward, but only to his kids, everyone else thinks he's a hoot. I think he's a legend. One hungover morning Killian rings me at 7am to tell me I must get over to Dick's house as he has managed to get stuck between his wheelchair and the bath. Thinking this elderly man is twisted and wedged somewhere in a small apartment bathroom, I throw on some clothes ride over to Dick's place. Dick requires a pre-entry phonecall to avoid getting shot if you are going to visit him. The day previous I had witnessed Killian calling his father in law from outside his apartment as to not get shot. Killian was meant to send me Dicks number so I could make this same call but Killian hadn't done so. I knocked on Dicks door and told him it was me. Jovially, he tells me to come in. I am greeted by an unarmed pensioner sitting upright in his chair. He wasn't stuck anywhere except for in his chair and just needed a hand. We had a really nice conversation while we waited for John to arrive. John and I would get Dick right for his x-ray which was due that day. Dick is a man with great life experience, he is blunt, honest, not always right but he is a good man and a friend.

We spend another day brewery hopping lead by our gorgeous guide and friend Jen. I had also met Jen previously at Killian and Kates wedding. We were both in the wedding party and I made sure we got paired together. She is a dream of a girl with great beer knowledge. At the cook out at the house, she also brought me a selection of beers she knew I'd like. She knows my taste so I was in good hands and well looked after. The brewery hopping ended with late night pizza, another bar or two and swimming in some of the local fountains of Lexington, which was really refreshing. Inebriation combined with heat and humidity and having been in the sun most of the day; I was straight into that fountain and eventually convinced Killian to join me. Kate recalls having never heard him laugh the way he did when we were goofing around in the fountains. This was all followed by immense drunken hugging and exchanged expressions of undying love for eachother (and copious photographic evidence).

Lessons;

Not that it needs proving, but Killian on many occasions has proved himself as a good friend. Killian and I have had a colourful history together but he is one of the greats and just visiting him reminded me of this. It is by no way a eureka moment but a gentle reminder for appreciation of the good people you keep in your life. This little time I had in Lexington gave me greater appreciation for my friends, Killian and Kate. We have such great and mutual respect for each other and our friendship is built on a sturdy foundation. After spending time with Killian for any length of time one must remember to detox the organs affected by alcohol abuse. It is often necessary to pretox these organs by slowly building up your tolerance levels of alcohol; something I have mastered having known Killian for so long and something I had achieved by the time I get to see Killian and Kate, liver training. 

Day Sixteen : Memphis, TN - Nashville, TN

The ride to Nashville is another day of Interstate. I get in at a reasonable hour and check into a very trendy, convenient and clean hostel I believe called Downtown Hostel (it was centrally located). It was full of backpackers who I get chatting to before checking in. I suss the place out and am told it's nice to stay there so I book in and I'm allocated Room 309 / 'Bob Dylan'. All the rooms were named different artists; I was only three or four rooms off Jimi Hendrix but more than happy being in Bob Dylan for the night. I guess this helps drunk tourists find their room when they stumble into the front desk at 4 in the morning (guilty ('Excuse me, can you tell me where is Bob Dylan??')). 

Photo was actually taken in Memphis but I just had to share.
This was a one-way system where the goat would walk
up the spiral and down the otherside and so on.
I explained to the Americans that 'Irish diving goats' don't exist.

This is the most 'youthful' of backpackers I've seen yet, I guess I'm getting more central in America and people are from further afield. Until now it's been mostly Americans and families I've met travelling but now there are more Europeans in particular. Nashville has similar offerings to Memphis but not to the same degree. I went out for the night to check out the music scene for which it is also famous. I had some mediocre ribs (with poor service) but saw some pretty cool music. I think I'd decided at that stage that I prefered Memphis (sorry Nashville)....

My beautiful Shadow

The music was more tourist friendly and modified to suite same, cliche cover songs, requests and such but I befriended some really talented musicians and have kept in touch with them since.  I meet a Mr. Dustin Martin who quickly introduces me to his band, the Ramblers, Adam and Ryan. We enjoy some beers together (whilst discussing them) and they ask for the lowdown on my trip so far). They are excited about the Irishness which is always welcome. We are a loved and proud people and I believe I represented us abroad with relative dignity. They asked me if I'd come back and check out their set in an hour or so, at this stage I still had lots to see for my one night in Nashville but luckily I returned to see this band as they were great. In the interim, I quickly check out some other bars which Dustin had mentioned. I had explained to him I prefer the blues and some rock and roll so he points me in the right direction. As we say in Ireland, Dustin and the Ramblers were 'sound' (cool/nice/down-to-earth). Months later, Dustin will end up putting me in touch with a singer from Tennessee, Erica Lee. Erica ended up crashing with me for few nights in Dublin so connections continue to be made and the world continues to grow smaller. 

Dustin Martin and the Ramblers playing in the Silver Dollar Saloon. Note couple on left (I like this photo)

Wild Bill Young

I also meet Wild Bill Young, a really nice guy who told me after his gig that he dreamed of going to Ireland, and Africa, both of which I could tell him a bit about. Bill doesn't go unnoticed as he's about 6 and a half foot, he has the deepest voice in the South and one of very few black country singers. We spoke briefly about the politics and some of the negative feedback he'd receive for being a black man singing country. In reality, he notes that country music and black people singing country music have been around as long as each other. He goes on to explain to me that some of the old greats were black. What makes Bill stand out most of all was his voice. Deep and soulful, he sounds like a well tuned tuba, played by a great tuba-ist (word?)

Music speaker just visible above vent

The street's fuse boxes are all allocated a particular artist and they play music from a small speaker on the side of the fuse box. In my inebriation I sat on the little ledge that supported the fuse box and sat listening to B.B.King for 20 minutes whilst I wolfed down yet another hot dog. I then went back to my hostel looking for Bob Dylan. Next stop KENTUCKY!! 

Street Performers, Broadway, Nashville

In the morning I try and nurse myself with a milkshake from the famous Mike's Ice Cream on Broadway. I hang out with some homeless people by the river and talk about tattoos and tobacco. Again they ask about my bike which is parked across the road and now loaded with all my bags (2 saddle bags, tank bag and my main duffel bag) for the next leg of my journey. At this stage, I have mastered loading up my bike. The saddle bags are easy to re-attach if I've taken them off for the night, they get added support from bungees. My duffel bag gets folded very specifically and a flap from the bag tucks between the two seats. Two large bungee cords to strap everything down and carefully placed behind my back, my goose down blanket provided for me by the kind lady in the spring baths of Joyful Journey. Rolled up between me and my duffel bag, this blanket provided great back support and was also adjustable!

Lessons; 
The odd homeless and trainhopper I'd meet were often filthy but usually some of the most down to earth, honest and friendliest people I'd meet.

Last man standing.....

Day Fourteen and Fifteen : Muskogee, OK - Memphis, Tennessee

I wake up in a pretty rough motel where I crashed for the night and discover my bed is wet and stained with an off-white yellowy colour. All around where I am lying....soaked....much to my delight, I then discover the half empty bottle of iced-tea I had not secured the lid of, before passing out. I regained my confidence discovering I hadn't wet the bed I still had to explain it to the cleaning lady who. She seemed to neither believe me, nor be in any way bothered by a bed covered in another stain she has to deal with (I stripped the bed for her).

My Shadow and I

As I leave this town of nothingness, I continue on the interstate towards Memphis, little do I know what awaits me. I never really anticipated the quality of music despite being told a few times on the road that Memphis would reward me well. I guess I was lucky that nobody hyped it up too much for me although words can never describe accurately the quality of music. 

It was another relatively uneventful ride on I40 but the day was still rewarded at the end  by taking out my map and marking in the another day closer to the East coast. This was my ritual everyday after getting off the bike and getting settled. I take out my map and my permenant marker, which were always together and the feeling was great seeing this thick black line get longer and longer as it stretched across my map of the states. I'm fairly sure now I've passed the halfway mark.

Beale Street

I get in at 8pm and head straight to Graceland, the home of Elvis Presley, after searching for an hour I find it is closed for the evening. It is amazing just seeing house from behind closed gates. The walls, lamposts and side-walks all around the grounds are covered in graffitti from fans and well-wishers. I believed Graceland, Tennessee would be out in the countryside surrounded by acres of open fields, I thought Elvis was a real country boy. In fact Graceland is in quite a suburban area less than 3 miles from the city centre (picture it in the middle of Harolds Cross or Phibsboro). I find Pilgrims House which doubles as an AA centre and a religious retreat centre and all sorts of other things, the people there are nice. After two days of ignoring the speeding ticket, it is here I discover it has been issued to Mr. Asam Gaine. It opens up a little debate among the fellow travelers in the room. We all come to a loose conclusion that I am paying the fine! I take the bike into the city of Memphis put it in a parking lot and I spend the night in dozens of different bars on Beale Street listening to some of the most amazing live music I've ever heard, and there are no admission charges anywhere. Different bar, different band, different genre. Funk, rock n roll, jazz, blues, the lot. I'm ecstatic, I'm in my element. 

The one thing I didn't do before leaving Los Angeles, was fit a set of waterproof automobile-speakers which plays MP3 and radio. I don't know why I didn't fit the speakers having brought them from Ireland. I guessed it may have been a bit of a distraction at times but I regretted it for the most part. I was nervous before leaving LA so I didn't want to tempt myself by any unnecessary distractions. I am obsessed with music and spend hours a day listening and actively discovering new music at home. On vacation however, I will only get to listen to music in the odd bar or listening to whatever music is playing in the diner or gas station I am temporarily visiting. I had earphones but never put them in under the helmet for the same safety reasons. In one way, the road was entertaining in it's own right so I didn't need music. Sometimes you stop hearing the sound of the V-twin roaring beneath your butt (it is a like a constant white noise which fades to the back of your conscious, like the smell of fart in the sulfur baths). You only hear the bike again when you drop gears. Sometimes the sound of your ride accompanies the journey better than any music would, and the sound of tar under rubber tires. 

Jeff Jensen in purposefully blurry photo 

This all emphasized the appreciation I had for the music in Memphis. Jeff Jensen and his band were probably the highlight of Memphis for me. Jeff himself is an amazing guitarist. His bassist and drummer are also remarkable and together they create mind-blowing music. After my now two weeks with very little music, The Jeff Jensen band along with the rest of Beale Street refueled me. The quality and standard of music here is second to none. The second night I spent in Memphis, I went back to see Jeff Jensen band again, I've befriended the bouncer at this stage who is minded my bike and helmet. They play for hours and they play hard, they mix up a little bit of Jimi Hendrix with their own stuff. I hate to say it but I was all about their Jimi covers. They perfected them, the solos were album quality. They reach their last song and it's go big or go home, or should I say, go big, then go home. Jeff was spitting out a heavy but nicely distorted solo. The outro for their set lasted minutes and nobody wanted it to end. Jeff plays his electric for another few minutes and everyone seems a little committed at this stage. As Jeff strikes the very last chord one of his strings snaps. The timing couldn't have been more perfect. He looked at the audience in disbelief and we all know at that moment that we've shared a special moment. Rock n roll!

Elvis' Home

I spend the next morning in Graceland which was now open for the day and thriving. It is a huge attraction with long queues but it is very well run. There are little speakers scattered around everywhere in Graceland and you can always hear the King singing in the background everywhere you go. It actually sets the tone quite well. It was a treat to see the home of Elvis, his basement, his games rooms, kitchen, tv room, the 'Jungle Room' (shag pad), his cars, his bikes, his awards, endless rooms of trophys, his outfits (hundreds of them), another squash room, FULL from floor to ceiling all the way around with thousands of awards, Gold and Platinum records and an endless list of accreditation. 

Elvis has left the building....

Elvis' remains lay to rest at his residence in the back garden. His grave-site, beside his parents is a site of great importance and sadness. It is mostly silent in this Meditation Garden (as it's called) asides a few clicking cameras and some whispered questions.  Being in Graceland makes you realize how important Elvis was, not only as a musician but as one of the great leaders of America as described by a woman I met in the sulfur baths. Elvis was a role model internationally, he was an extremely charitable and loving man. This is how the King is portrayed in Graceland, and this is how he should be remembered.




After a night of drinking (mostly) non-alcoholic beers on Beale Street and listening to the most pleasantly erratic gathering of amazing music, I'm informed that the following night is 'bike night'. It is a MUST to bring your bike to bike night if your in town. It's a weekly event. Everyone brings their bike to Beale Street which is primarily a pedestrian street. Imagine Grafton Street (only bars instead of shops) with 700+ bikes, all shapes and sizes, 80% Harleys, the rest were all sorts of Japanese cruisers, stretched crotch rockets, rat bikes, evem a Honda Ruckus (scooter) with a 4 foot exhaust and hugely extended swing arm. All this followed by an international bikini contest which I heard announced from the street. I zombily wondered towards the bar where I overheard the event being announced. I had the world famous Rendezvous BBQ ribs that night and enjoyed plenty more music. I hung out with three other bikers who were all riding Japanese bikes. Pinky and two other people she had met that day. Pinky was one of the only other Honda Shadows on Beale Street that night (I think I saw two others but hers and mine were the nicest ones there). Her bike was pink and yellow and covered in rhine stones and pink ostrich leather which she made herself. This was my first time feeling part of the biking community. I sat with Pinky and her pals for a few hours drinking beer and soaking up the atmoshpere and the beer as riders continued riding onto Beale Street on their thrones. Tonight I also learned how stuck-up Harley riders are.... 

Elvis' Kitchen. Seemingly, the tv at the end of the kitchen was always on
and food as we know, was a large part of Elvis' life.

It was not for the first time on bike night that I was informed by a Harley rider that I had chosen a great bike to transect America. Most Harley riders admit a Harley Davidson is not comfortable enough to cross America and the amount of maintainance that Harleys 'generally' require would not make the journey worthwile. I slowly learn to hate Harleys for what they are truly worth. A clique, a membership to cool parties and an unreliable, awkward machine. I will later learn that they are weighty as hell.

Lessons:

Harleys suck
Memphis ROCKS

Day Thirteen : Dodge City, KA - Muskogee, Oklahoma

I am awoken early by the owner of the motel who has kindly done laundry for me. She presents me with my cotton tote bag full of warm, folded, fresh, dry, clean clothes. She returns 10 minutes later with a sock. It was part of a pair that was bought for me years ago by my friend Simon. It brands my name on the side, 'Adam, I think this is also yours', she says.  I've carefully placed my boots and gloves in front of the a/c overnight and they had dried out fully after my horrendous ride through the first half of Kansas.



I pack up and ride a few hundred meters down the road to Boot Hill, located in Dodge City. Like everywhere else til now, I can happily leave the bike unlocked and all my luggage just strapped to it. Nobody ever touched my bike, not once. I had planned to stop here at Boot Hill before hitting the road. There are some replica and original Western style buildings. It is essentially a village-museum. The town features all sorts, including an operating convenient store with 'ye olde' candy, tapestries, kitchen utensils, baking supplies and old decorative milk pails, a floury shop if that makes any sense. I bought myself some old skool fudge. Behind the facade of this Western town was this museum segmented into a large gun collection, the undertakers (incl. tools, caskets), a replica pharmacy, a replica bank, an original church, the original school house and everything else as it was in the day. There was also a saloon / bar where a great 'potion-seller' drama performance was put on. At high noon there was a really awesome shootout in front of the village with great acting from a well rehearsed cast who doubled as staff for Boot Hill.  

Engine ignited and I'm heading for Tulsa but end up in Muskogee which I still know nothing about. This was a fail night and a non-day. Tulsa is meant to be a 'go-to' city. Til now I have resisted Googling the city to see what I missed. Again, I'm trying to make up time for my stay in Tucson and my slow days in the Rockies. After a days riding and a few hours ';rest' in Tulsa, I stupidly decide to head on.

At the start of my day I come across a river that is bright red like tomato soup. It amazes me. It is contrasted by the green trees which line the river and clear blue skies. I take another Brodericks photo, this time outside a typical wooden barn in a field in Kansas. I also take some 80mph selfies, when I check them later they turn out pretty entertaining.

Before I'm anywhere near Tulsa, I rocket through the rest of Kansas and get into Arkansas (the second 's' in Arkansas is pronounced as a 'w' as I learned in a bar in Salida where the Arkansas River runs through). I'm back on the Interstate for the most part and pushing the bike (not literally, I'm pushing the limits of the engine), and the speed limits. I'm as focused as I ever am and steadily passing the rest of the traffic all of whom are also breaking the speed limit but maybe not to the same extent as I am. Generally everyone goes 80mph on the interstate where the speed limit is 70mph. 

I see a low and wide black fender (bumper) on a white car tailing me, it loomed up behind me so quickly and I don't remember overtaking it so it must have come at speed from the last slip road. I notice the tell-tale appendages of a police car attached to the roof as they start to flash red and blue. I immediately but cautiously pull over, turn off my engine and remember from watching Americanized tv not to make an sudden movements. I stay on the bike and remove my gloves and helmet  SLOWLY, while the state trooper approaches me. My paperwork is handy to me sitting inside my tank-bag, he naturally wants to see my passport and entrance stamp also. Luckily he only catches me doing 91mph, little did he know. 

Seen somewhere near the tomato soup river

Over his PA loudspeaker system, he invited me into the car while he is doing a background search. I try strike up some conversation complimenting his car and asking him what different buttons did. The 10 minutes of air conditioning in the patrol car was almost worth the fine (not really at all). All my paper work is in order and he's got everything plugged into his onboard computer system, I see my VIN number and my aunts address, but he has only gone and issued the ticket to Asam Gaine.....I only notice this in my hostel the following night and it fuels some great moral and legal debate between the other travelers in the social area; should I, or shouldn't I pay it. It is apparently simple enough to testify that an officer that is incompetent of inputting simple information into a computer could be incompetent of other simple tasks in relation to the observation and documentation of speeding and traffic offences. My temptation is to fight the summons because my name is wrong but you can only fight it in court which was set for August and I ain't ever going back to Arkansas so I put it to the bottom of my bag to be paid another day.

I hit Tulsa late in the evening and breaking my rule, I go to an Irish bar to look for a bed. I have a beer while I wait, then another, then I get chatting to some different people at the different bats and it goes from there. I decide I'm replenished enough to do another 100 miles which will get me closer to Memphis. I fade after 40 miles and pull off the interstate into a town called Muskogee. Here in this nothing town in Oklahoma I pay another $50 to sleep in a starfish shape for the night, worth it. The town seems industrious and I have no business there, I leave early the next day for this reason.

Lessons:

Don't speed in Arkansas (apparently they are well known for speeding fines).

Some proverbs I read in Boot Hill:

'Treat the earth well; it was not given to you by your parents, it was loned to you by your children. We do not inherit the Earth from our ancestors, we borrow it from our children'    
-Ancient Indian Proverb

'I am a great chief among my people.
If you kill me,
It will be like a spark on the prairie.
It will make a big fire - a terrible fire.-   
-Chief Satanta

'His beauty captivated us.
His intelligence inspired us.
His athletic ability amazed us
We were then touched by his spirit,
his keen sensitivity,
overwhelming loyalty,
and purity of heart.
The Indian and the horse established a bond of brotherhood
-Linda Little Wolf

'The rivers are our brothers, they quench our thirst,
The rivers carry our canoes, and feed our children.
If we sell you our land, you must remember to teach your children that the rivers are our brothers, and yours, and you must henceforth give the rivers the kindness you would give any brother'  
-Chief Seattle

Day Twelve ; Boulder, CO - Dodge City, Kansas

Found in sweet shop, Boulder, CO

This was easily  THE WORST day of riding with special regards to the weather. It was also one of the most challenging and rewarding day's riding in it's own way. I was told after I leave the Rockies and head through Kansas it's going to be painfully boring, that it wasn't, but it was all 'downhill' after the Rockys, they were such a highlight and although I was well and truly clear of the desert, I was back in flat lands. Kansas is oceans of fields, speckled with oil pumps, barns and little villages. My goal was to reach Dodge City. As I left Colorado the skies opened and I start to get wet. 

Grey skies

I welcomed the rain because although it wasn't roasting, it was by no means a cold day, also I missed the feeling of rain. I got about 90 miles out of Boulder, refueled and got some food in my belly (it was a real old family owned diner with the family furniture used in the restaurant, no two cups the the same and a cup of day-old coffee poured for me before I'd even sat down). I put on some dry clothes (in the restaurant / family kitchen) and added my waterproofs. I ate a pretty tasty burger and as I left the diner, the storm started to catch up in all it's glory, it was following me. I was quick to eat and go but the rain I had left in Boulder had caught up. It was building momentum in size, speed and severity. The heavy drops started to hit as I drove out of the small town, another 80 odd miles of tolerable rain (which is now getting cold). I'm filling the tank again and in doing so the storm is only 10 minutes behind me. I try to enjoy a cigerette having fueled up but the cigarette is practically extinguished by what is now a storm. I'm forced to get back on the bike and try regain 1st place in this battle with Mother Nature. This continued the whole day long. Some pressure difference ahead of the storm was starting to lift all the dust and the next 200 miles proved even more difficult, during which I rode through heavy rain followed by thick dust cloud which turned me and my bike into a brown cake-like texture, as I pull into another gas station I'm considering calling it a day, I'd have to allow this cake mixture dry and crack it off all my gear and my bike. I don't stall and I decide to push on because I know this ground will have to be made up the next day en route Tennessee. 

After this I was treated to huge hailstones the size of marbles, they were hitting my shins and my chin (3/4 face helmet) and it was extremely painful, I was distracted by trying to ride in grooves in the hail on the road which had been created by truck tires. Little hailstone valleys of safe rideable tar. The winds were blowing the remaining rain sideways. 

The dust storm I had to escape

I drove at a 30 degree angle for a good length of that journey due to the unforgiving side wind. Anyone who has driven through Kansas will be all too familiar with side-winds. Oddly enough, the following rains seemed to clean me and my bike off again, my last refueling of the day my Shadow and I were both wet and clean. There's not much to remember about Kansas asides the flat harvested corn fields and barns but the smell was just a little off. 

Most Irish people know and love the smell of sileage spread on the fields (if they don't admit to loving it, they'd admit to it being an important smell of their growing-up). The smell of Irish cow shite is not offensive per se, most Irish people living outside of the Pale will admit to this smell being a very sentimental homely smell. Living in Dublin city, returning to Mullingar in the country side and getting a whiff of cow shite is a real welcome. It's just something we're used too, cow shite. Riding through Kansas was one of the few times when being able to access the smells of your surroundings was not necessarily a good thing, the one time A/C would have come in handy. Cow shite smells different in Kansas. I am passing multiple cattle feedyards where cows are fed all sorts of nasties. I have always known that these huge food corporations and such are pumping chickens and cows with chemicals but I didn't know their shit would smell that bad. What was worse was when I passed a slaughterhouse and the smell I gathered was familiar to me but I couldn't place it, it was a clinical smell, out of place, something hospital related! The slaughterhouse actually smelled like antibiotics, it was worrying to say the least considering I was riding passed the building at 80 mph and the odour was strong enough for me to pick up. I try to eat USDA approved meat from here on in on my trip. 

Bike was purchased with 10,000 miles

I made it to Dodge City and pulled into the first motel. The owners, a couple, were such sweet people. They lent me a USB adapter which I had needed since the start of my trip and then they tell me to keep it. The husband gave me a small bag of homemade jerky which he had made himself, it was absolutely delicious and comparable to the quality of biltong, African-style dried beef. His wife kindly offered to wash my clothes for a small fee of $5. Considering I got in at about 8pm she did fairly well having it at my door by 7am, still warm from the drier. I was so happy to have reached Dodge City. I know many would have called it a day and packed it in earlier but I just couldn't give up. The roads were terrifying but it gave me a boost. I spent most of the day on the highways before I inevitably hit some more interstate.

Lessons;
-Fuck Kansas
-The people are lovely

Day Eleven : Hot Sulphur Springs, Co - Boulder, CO

I started my day with another visit to a hot spring baths that were walking distance from my hostel, but I ride down because I am now in love with my beautiful bike. The 600meter drive brings me across the Colorado river and a train track still in use. It was pleasent falling asleep the night previous and hearing the train pass, which took 5 minutes due to it's size and speed. 

The sign that greeted me in Hot Sulphur Springs, minutes
after booking the last bed in town.

The baths were absolutely amazing, more so than the ones I'd been in previously that week. I questioned the maintenance and upkeep of the 'spa' as I entered. I wondered how the owners could allow such a pungent smell permeate their premises, I then remembered he name of the town, Hot Sulphur Springs, and figured these natural springs would carry a certain odour which is unavoidable. It smelled like fart, but you get used to it. I spent hours in luxurious outdoor and indoor baths with different minerals and chemicals to relax the muscles and bones of achy biker bodies. Each bath was a different temperature, some temperatures were a challenge in themselves, 112 degrees Fahrenheit, whatever that is in Celsius. 24 baths in total and I was in most but not all of the baths. 



There was one natural spring bath which was fed by a continuous waterfall of steaming hot sulfuric water, it pounded down on your back and neck as you ducked underneath it, mother natures massage. There is a hidden wall to the side of this bath where the lady in the red swim suit is sitting. Behind her is a wall which divides the main bath from a small one-man bath (see below, my arm is resting on the wall she is sitting on above). The water in this separate bath is much darker and less opaque than the main bath, the water is also much hotter and bottom of the back is a thick massaging sand. All the baths were different textures, tiles, plastic, stone, slate etc. You have to climb over the wall and manipulate yourself into a semi-Fowlers position (nurse reference) in order to sit comfortably inside the natural rock formation.

I met some pleasant people here (lady above) who shared with me the joys of Colorado and just their general love for life. There were a number of people nearly all American, most from out of state. It seemed to be a popular spot.

This was another beautiful day of purely casual riding, there was no progress East made today. I covered 110 miles and spent about 10 hours on the road, so many views to take in, photo opportunities and viewing points. I started the day by riding back through Granby and filling up at the station where the attendant had kindly booked my bed for me the night previous. I entered Rocky Mountain National Park for an insignificant fee (for what you were paying for (priceless)) and rode further north over some breathtaking peaks. The roads were dry, the air was cool and fresh but there was almost a constant warmth on my back. When I got to the top I had to get down and bury my face in the snow. This day was riding up and down the mountains in the national park; I ride Peak to Peak highway which completes my day as I near the town of Boulder. There is some amount of traffic around the park as it is a Sunday but I am not focused on that. There continues to be huge posses of bikers on the road. There were also posses of elk which was not something I had planned on seeing or had thought of seeing. I was in it for the terrain, the landscape and the ride but as I keep saying, the elk were a real treat, and I hate to say it but, particularly the males, with their ginormous antlers. 

I finished this day riding from Nederland into Boulder, Colorado where my friend Peter lives. I met him in Zimbabwe in January and met him again in Zanzibar in March, our paths just happened to cross after we had both traveled in opposite circles around southern Africa over the three months. I stayed with him and his mom; we chilled, had some beers and walked around his neighborhood. Peter is under 21 so it was a night of relative sobriety. I got a great night sleep and on declining an offer of a second night in Boulder, I brought Peter for a spin on my Shadow which he really loved. We both went without helmets which is stupid, but a must when your in America and the weather is fine. We rode around Boulder, then went go-karting which was fun but miserable getting from a 750cc bike into a 25cc go-kart. Next stop Kansas.

Change of pace

People always ask what the highlight of a particular trip, and most people will reply, 'But there were so many'. This is true of this vacation but this particular day, and my few days spent in the Rocky Mountains were easily ONE of the highlights of my holiday. I'm not sure if it is all altitude related but it is truly breathtaking. Not I nor anybody else I met who had traveled through these passes could accurately describe the Rockies giving them their due credit. Some would simply say it was indescribable, incomprehensible or that it just left them speechless.

Lessons;
'Go to Elvis's home! He was the last great leader of this country' - Woman in hot baths