Yes, I’m still chasing the same horizon.

I’ll let you know when I catch it.

“Still Unbroken”

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Introspection. Time for thoughts. Moods darken and change. The passion rises, and then, unfulfilled, calls forth the darkside of the man. My demons materialize with it and gain strength as the night gets colder and my mood gets darker.

A quote to fit the mood often pops into my head at these times, and this night was no different:

“There is something haunting in the light of the moon; it has all the dispassionateness of a disembodied soul, and something of its inconceivable mystery”
– Joseph Conrad

My response to these thoughts can often make or break a night…can win me or lose me the battles with the things that hunt me in the dark and cold.

This night, my response won hands down:

“Fuck it. There’s Belgium Chocolate ice-cream in the freezer.”
-Daniel Meyer

CUAgain!

The state trooper pulled up in the street next to me and rolled down his window to yell.

“HEY!”

I had run the bike a bit up a ramped sidewalk and partially under an awning to help shelter me from the storm. Shivering and soaked, I grimaced and huddled beside the bike and tried to make myself as small a target for the vicious hailstones as I could. They were getting bigger. That was the only reason for seeking shelter…I run *in* the rain, not *from* it…no matter how bad. The hail though…well, it pretty much sucks.

“WHAT!?” I replied in the same tone. Cop or no, I wasn’t in the mood for any bullshit tonight.

“Nobody rides in a storm like this!” He was still yelling…though now it was probably to be heard over the rumbling of the storm and flying water and ice.

“Except me.” I shouted back.

“What are you doing out here?”

I thought about that for a moment. Hell, I didn’t know. The last few hours were a blur. Storms and speed. Lightning and darkness. Hunting and hunted. I had no purpose except to challenge the storms…both the storms I was attempting to take momentary shelter from…and the storms in my soul…the ones I’ve never found a way to hide from.

It seemed they both were winning.

For lack of another answer I stated the obvious, “Riding!”

“Why?”

I gave as simple and honest answer as I was capable of at the moment.

“Horny! Wife’s out of town!”

Lightning hit close enough that the thunderclap stunned us for a moment.

After we could hear again he began rolling up as window as he pulled away yelling, “Well then. Carry on!”

A great ride…nobody died AND I can use the bike again…

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

The two little bits didn’t go through. The big flat one did. Stuck a gooey string plug in it. Don’t have time to tear it down today. Since I run a fat, juicy car tire on the back, the plug should hold fine until I have time to deal with it.

Now…I see some storms I need to be riding in!

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Remember THIS entry about Toonies restaurant in Bellaire?

John Hanson, the owner (and certified genius or authentic wacko) had named a sandwich after me…the “Daniel Meyer/Angry Mountain”, after I blogged about it from the previous year.

Seems my friend and fellow VRCC’er T.P. set the whole thing up…pointing out the blog to John/etc…

Of course I had one while I was there again this time. Bacon added. Yum.

Anyway…got a message from T.P. recently

“HEY DANIEL !! I emailed John Hanson from Toonies and this came back today. T.P.”

TP, we sold 67 of the DM/AM while vrcc was here. In a normal week we usually only sell 6 to 10. Good luck and God Bless, John

The VRCC’ers managed to put 67 of those things away…or somewhere about 167,352 calories…enough to keep me going for a couple days or so!

Anyway, thanks T.P., and thanks John Hanson and the staff at Toonies. All the food there was excellent and the service was top-notch. They really knew how to take care of a bunch of hungry riders. Stop in and see ‘em.

The Angry Mountain, available at Toonies Fish and Steakhouse in Bellaire, Michigan

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Some may prefer to call this a brain fart, still others would just look at me like I’m crazy and say, “Well DUH!”

The epiphany? (or thought or whatever?)

Maybe…just maybe…this run was not the safest thing I could be doing at this particular moment.

Being covered in blood and deer shit can sometimes have that effect.

See, I killed Bambi. Exploded him actually. Not 20 minutes later I helped to dismember his mother, and then worked to get rid of the evidence.

Yep. Just another summer night’s run in northeastern Oklahoma.

I hit the Oklahoma turnpike (I-44) coming out of Jasper, Missouri well after dark and it was ominous from the get-go. I’ve never seen so much road kill. Bodies and greasy spots littered the highway, and that rather…unique musty smell of death and corruption we riders instantly recognize went on for 30 miles.

The drought, the heat, or something else brought wildlife to the roadway in droves. Perhaps they were trying to solve the great chicken riddle. Maybe they were depressed. Certainly they were suicidal.

Yo! Fred! Go see if you can figure out why the chicken crossed the road.
*Vrooom*SPLAT*
Oh! Dude. Gross. WAY wrong answer. Yo! George! Your turn!

Must be fawning season too. Seems like the wrong time of year but I spotted dozens of the little spotted things roaming around, sometimes with adults, often taking tentative steps into the roadway. Occasionally I had to employ “skills” to miss them.

I saw lots of them. It’s the ones you don’t see that get you though.

Off the ‘pike at US 69, southbound and fast. Miles to burn. Oklahoma is bigger than most folks realize and I needed to cross the entire state, north to south.

I was ready…more than ready…to get home. I’d been on the bike far too long and there was a shower, a steak, and a warm and willing woman waiting for me at the end of this run. That’s all the incentive I need. I’ll burn asphalt clear across the country for those three things.

Typically confident…it never occurred to me I might not make it there.

I never saw the fawn enter the roadway. It didn’t walk or run out…it leapt. Perhaps it just appeared.

All I saw was a brown streak. “BANG!” I hit it solidly just as it landed on the road. A full on front tire-smackdown. The heavy machine simply consumed it, sucking it under the front tire with a sickly wet crunch. I don’t want to think about the possibilities if the fawn had been in the apex of it’s leap instead of landing. Thirty pounds of anything hitting you in the face at 80 mph is not a good thing.

The big cruiser shuddered but didn’t miss a beat. The fawn simply disintegrated and a cloud of grisly remains spattered in all directions.

I gagged as my senses of taste and smell were completely overwhelmed with the stench of fresh blood, hair, and less delicate substances.

It happened instantly. Almost as quickly it was gone…the pool of my lights passing beyond the scene of the carnage. Somewhat fresh air from the 80 mph blast furnace winds replaced the nauseating cloud of death that had engulfed me. I blinked and inhaled the air, trying desperately not to barf in my helmet and clear the strong aftertaste out of my sinuses.

It was an eye opening moment.

Know this, I am no stranger to motorcycles, night runs, or wildlife encounters. Most encounters can be avoided by being alert to the road and the areas around it, and by the skills of the rider.

Sometimes though, there is absolutely no chance at all. Sometimes, the only way to avoid an encounter is to not be out here at all.

I’m not even sure that’s an option in my case. A wanderer’s soul is a powerful thing. A pesky thing too.

A quick stop in at the next “quickieMart” revealed no visible damage to the machine and only a few grisly bits hanging on the bike here and there. I bought a bottle of water (the liter kind with the squirt top) to try and gargle and also clear/flush my sinuses of the gag inducing taste.

Protip: I don’t recommend flushing your sinuses with ice-cold water, heavy explosives and an ax would cause less pain. I imagine the store clerk was wondering why I spent a couple minutes dancing around his parking lot spewing water and moaning, but he’s probably seen stranger things. Maybe he thought it was a rain dance. Night-shifts. Oy.

Wow. A deer strike. And I’m still rolling! I know better, but still, somewhere in the back of my mind I expect I was thinking, “Well, glad that’s over with for tonight.”

Anybody experienced with the more perverse nature of the universe will, of course, know where that is leading…

Back on the road again. We’re back to a divided highway now. Safer. Wider road surface. Better visibility. I pushed the speed up a notch or two and settled in to make some miles.

Not even 20 miles down the road it happened. As I approached a car to pass, the car hit a deer. This time a full grown one. Once again, I never saw the deer enter the road. It simply arrived. Seems the deer have perfected teleportation. Too bad they keep using it to explore the road immediately in front of high speed iron.

Even though I didn’t see the deer enter the road, I clearly saw the impact. *BANG!*, the car’s fender crumpled and some of the headlights went out. Stuff went flying up and out of the light while other things slid messily down the road in my path

I was showered in heavy pieces of debris that for lack of a better term…I will describe as “meaty”. Yeah. “Meaty”. Well, except for the “shitty” ones.

Again gagging at the overwhelming stench and taste that seemed to infuse my very soul, I managed to keep the bike upright as we hit large squishy/crunchy bits in the road. Time dilated. Each impact was distinctly individual. The bike wobbled and skipped a bit sideways. Something heavy thumped me with bruising force in the shoulder. I suddenly felt wet.

No. “Wet” doesn’t describe it. Dirty. Ugggy. Blech. *shudder* There. Are. No. Words.

I realized I was still up, breathing, and running down the road. My world…the bubble created by my headlights…was once again clear.

I shuddered again. Ugh. Unbidden a movie quote crossed my lips.

“He slimed me.”

The car didn’t stop so neither did I. The bike was running smooth and straight and there would be little to accomplish out there in the dark.

“I feel so funky.” Yeah, I’m a movie geek.

Death is out here tonight. I’ve encountered her before. We have a running battle, she and I. Last time we met I bought her a beer…but that’s another story. This time I think she’s just teasing me.

Screw it. I’ve never been the passive sort. My fate is in my hands and I like it that way. Random chance and the roll of the dice are determining who hits what tonight. The only “safe” option is not to be out here…and it’s far to late for that. “Safe” is often not the primary demand of my soul anyway.

I cranked on all the driving lights and pushed the speeds beyond reasonable. If death is going to chase me down tonight she’s gonna have to run fast for it. Until she claims me…I’ll run hard and run free.

I gagged again. Besides…I had to get some more water and at least change shirts. Even in the dark I could tell I was covered in blood.

The gods threw me a bone and shortly provided an all night travel-plaza with a car wash attached.

The clerk eyed me with intense alarm as I purchased water and juice. I was dripping blood on his floor. I was inordinately pleased that this time it wasn’t mine…at least…most of it…as far as I could tell.

“Dude! You all right?”

I couldn’t resist. I just looked puzzled, “Yeah. Why do you ask?”

Washing the bike off with the high-pressure spray…watching the blood, deer shit, and small gobbets of I don’t know what schluffing down the drain. The cops had rolled up and were watching me, but hadn’t bothered to make contact. Meh. I was beyond caring. They work the nightshift too. They can deal with it, or not. As they please.

The bike clean, I pulled off my shirt, glanced at it, and tossed it. I found I could clean my arms, torso, and jeans without peeling my skin off with the car wash nozzle as long as I didn’t pull the trigger.

Finally, passable and much less smelly, I pulled on a fresh shirt from my pack and hit the road. I think the cops followed me out of town but it didn’t really matter. I was doing 80 before I cleared the streetlights.

The epiphany? Yeah. Probably not safe. Maybe. Death and I will have to discuss it. Perhaps over a beer.

The only safe option is not to ride.

And it’s far too late for that.

I’ll see you on the road.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Never shy away.

Ride ‘em hard. Fix ‘em when they break.

Life is a road…

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer

Blistered. Severely. This is my forearm, above the sleeve line. Riding a motorcycle, the sleeves flutter in the breeze and the sun gets you here. I know this from long experience and use sunscreen.

The sunscreen I used just flat did not work.

Upper chest and the other forearm were as bad.

Damage was done on the outbound ride before I realized it. Back to the brand I’ve always used (Bullfrog sport spritz-on, which always works).

Ouchies.

Black shirt.
Black pants.
Black boots.
Black gloves.
Black helmet.
Black bike.
Black tank-bag.
Black seat.
Black pack (T-bag).

Ideal gear for record high temperatures and/or a night run, yes?

Yeah, not always the smartest guy…but what I have is what I have.

1280 miles
22 hours
11 gas stops.
2 nighttime “Where the *hell* is the next fuel stop” map perusing stops.
2 (two!) nighttime “wipe the blood and animal parts off the Valk and check for damage” stops. (included in this was a “WTF am I doing out here” moment.
1 “My butt won’t take this anymore and my leg is cramped up” stop.
46 gallons of fuel (that Valk is a thirsty beasty)
7 liters of water (I am a thirsty beasty)
4-20 oz diet Cokes.
2-24 oz diet “green tea” with citrus
1-16 oz apple juice
1 McDonalds Mango/Pineapple smoothie
1 McDonalds cheeseburger/fries
2 Taco Bell tacos
1 Taco Bell nachos
5 refills diet Mtn Dew (at the taco Bell)
2 (two!) sets of tits flashed at me from random cars. Just in case there is any doubt out there…I generally *highly* support this practice.
98 degrees at 2:10am in Sherman, Texas.

60mph average speed, not bad considering all the stops, all the time spent drinking the fluids, and the vast amounts of time wasted hung up in the MASSIVE traffic jams on I-55 north of St. Louis (WTF people, it’s supposed to be an I-state!)

I’m thinking I need a GPS…can’t read the maps in motion anymore, particularly at night…and that “where the *hell* is the next fuel” button would come in handy.

More to tell.

And I’m ready for another ride!

-dm

Load up on good food and good friends.

280 miles back.

Gorgeous riding conditions on the night run home.

70mph *average* on the way home.

68 degrees with a 30 mph tailwind. A MAGIC Texas night…as I said to some folks when I was leaving…

“This is one of *those* kind of nights. If I survive it, there *will* be something to write about.”

I was not incorrect, but that’s another story…

One HELL of a Saturday!

I needed that.

CUAgain,
Daniel Meyer