The Road to Wrestlemania

[frenchy750]

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, or at least that's what Mr. Erdon taught us in eighth grade geometry class. What Mr. Erdon failed to tell us is that the straightest line, while fastest, is usually the least interesting path. It took me a lot of motorcycling trial and error to figure this important fact out.

By way of a little background, my steadfast riding buddy Abi, better known as Dark Meat Snack and I have worked as audio engineers for World Wrestling Entertainment for most of the past decade. Every single week of the year finds us traveling somewhere on the planet, bringing all the glorious sounds of Sports Entertainment - the grunts, groans, chair shots and screams - to our mass of wrestling fans.

An unintended benefit of all this travel is, if the show is within a reasonable distance, Dark Meat Snack and I can commute to work on Rain Cloud Follows and Snowball, our trusty, well traveled motorcycles.

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Wrestlemania is World Wrestling Entertainment's Super Bowl. The show, attended by a crowd of over 70,000 fans, and watched by millions on Pay Per View is the culmination of a year's worth of story lines. This year's extravaganza, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the show that started it all is being held at the Reliant Stadium in Houston.

As soon as Houston was announced as the home of the twenty-fifth anniversary of Wrestlemania, the wheels of my little mental Habitrail started spinning. In a straight line, Houston is only fifteen-hundred or so miles from my adopted home in California. A few months ago, Dark Meat Snack and I sat down in a dark bar somewhere, and over a few frothy pints of Guinness, plotted out our latest scheme.

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The Road To Wrestlemania Map-kin.

With hard-won straight-line-is-boring knowledge in mind during the 'Road to Wrestlemania Map-kin Route Planning Phase' we improvised an interesting route from California to Houston that avoided straight lines like I avoid proctologist visits.

Coming up with some mildly creative travel options to leave the show the week before our little trip, we realized we could easily get on the road on Tuesday afternoon, giving us almost six days to ride the Road to Wrestlemania. With that, and a huge bar tab, the plan was nearly complete.

My beautiful girlfriend Fiona, a.k.a Sleeping Beauty decided to sit this leg of the trip out. We're pretty sure she contracted the dreaded Black Death strain of the bubonic plague during our recent ride to Death Valley (http://www.motorcyclistcafe.com/forums/showthread.php?t=6685).

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She decided instead of riding in the chilly spring air again, the best remedy for her cold would be to fly to her sister's house in sunny San Antonio, where we would meet her on the way to Houston.

And with that final piece of the puzzle in place, everything was set. Time took on that slow, slippery quality it always does when something great and fun is right around the corner. Finally, The 'Big Day' arrived, though Delta Airlines did their best to ruin it. After a nice, lengthy, not-at-all-frustrating runway delay, the Airbus flight computer got over its case of the hiccups, and by two PM, Dark Meat Snack and I loaded up and were finally rolling down the road to Houston.

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First stop? Joshua Tree National Park, perfectly disrupting Mr. Erdon's straight line theory. I usually try to have some sort of theme idea on a ride, be it National Parks or lighthouses or whatever; though often times the real theme will just naturally evolve. The first evolving theme of this ride quickly became 'How Many Miles Can We Add?' The Joshua Tree detour added quite a few, but the scenery and road were well worth it.

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I Need To Wash My Fried Liver!!!

From Joshua Tree National Park, we put the hammer down and sped through about half of the approximately two hundred boring, straight-line highway miles necessary for this ride.

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The craptastic Super 8 in Quartzsite, AZ became our first home away from home. Fresh cigars and plastic cups full of Macallan helped us unwind as we toasted the Best Day Ever from the parking lot before calling it a night. The sound of screaming diesel engines on I-10 lulled us to fitful unconsciousness, content with the knowledge that even better days lay straight ahead.

[Deans BMW]

Your travelogs are the best ever. Did Abi's C14 get properly fixed?

[frenchy750]

The next morning dawned. Cold, clear, and... cold. Really cold.

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I've learned the best, most logical thing to do when the morning dawns clear and cold is run back to the safety of the covers, which I gladly did. Ambitious schedule or not, freezing to death is not exactly the way I want to go out. (For those that are interested, I want to go out in a huge, exploding, flaming ball of fire, on live TV, taking several thousand startled people along with me... ) It was already obvious the second evolving theme of this ride would be Mother Nature and her fickle mood swings.

After the greenhouse gasses we released the day before worked their magic for a while, the planet returned to a nearly suitable temperature, and Dark Meat and I decided it was safe to venture out.

First stop? Breakfast.

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Two years ago, Dark Meat Snack, Sleeping Beauty and I rode to the Grand Canyon on many of these same roads. We stumbled upon the Kofa Cafe out there in the middle of somewhere, and had such a memorable breakfast that I needed to return.

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The locals seem to have been coming to the Kofa Cafe for years. Conversation stops when newcomers walk in, but once you get the hairy eyeball for a few minutes, you are accepted into the family. It's a great place.

And they have a huge map of the US on the wall. Before we left, I checked to see if the pin I stuck in my hometown last time was still there. It wasn't. Some scumbag removed it, so I stuck fifteen pins into my little slice of the Kingdom of Rhode Island, and tried to put a RI flag sticker up too, but I got caught.

Not sure if we'll be invited back to the family next time, but breakfast was still good.

We raced up the barren expanse of Route 60, stopping briefly outside the little town of Hope.

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Beyond Hope - Propor Grammer Opshonal

Vulture City is a ghost town located a few miles off Route 60. The legend has it that the mining town got its name from a vulture that was shot by a drunken cowboy landed on a gold nugget. Since there aren't many lighthouses in the middle of Arizona, Dark Meat and I decided to pay the ghost town a visit.

The road into Vulture is a tangled mess of curves, and nearly deserted too. To me there's no greater feeling than finding one of these state maintained racetracks.

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The last mile to Vulture City was a fun little off-road dirt adventure for half our group, and not so much fun for Abi.

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He hates dirt. This dirt hatred is good foreshadowing for the end of our day, but that's getting ahead of the story.

The caretaker at Vulture City was a character straight out of a Louis L'Amour novel. Big cowboy hat, six shooter holstered at his side, he cut an impressive figure. His first question was, "How'd you boys hear about Vulture City? From one of those websites that said it's $5 to come in? Well, It ain't. It's $10."

Err.. OK. Considering we'd already risked life and limb riding that dirt road to get there, and considering he was armed and we were not, we paid the increased admission and set off to explore the ghost town.

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Along a trail, Dark Meat Snack made a startling discovery.

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There's Still Gold in Them Thar Hills!

If I had a six-shooter, I could have easily renamed the town Dark Meat Snack City. Pity.

Determined to get my full $10 out of Vulture City, I took a quick dip in the conveniently provided hot tub.

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$10 And No Hot Water?

When Abi and I originally decided on this trip, I posted our plan on a few motorcycling forums, asking if anyone felt like taking in a few smelly strays for the night. A few people bravely responded - not surprisingly all from Motorcyclist Cafe. Dean from the Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn graciously offered me and Abi a place to sleep, so we aimed our bikes north, following a route kindly provided by Motorcyclist Cafe member 'Jamming,' towards the comfort and shelter of a stranger.

The route 'Jamming' provided was tremendous. I couldn't help the wide smile on my face as I tried to coax a little more lean angle out of Rain Cloud Follows, rolling through the gravity defying corners of the excellent Route 89.

After lunch, I called Dean to let him know how far out we were. He told me to hurry, because Mz Pam was about to start cooking dinner, a huge meal of barbecued ribs. I hated to do it, but I had to break the news that while I am a HUGE fan of barbecue, with the thick middle to prove it, Dark Meat Snack is vegetarian. Somewhat disappointed sounding, Dean replied, "He is? Well... shit. I don't have much food for one of.. them. I might have some cereal or something. I guess he can have that and watch us eat. Tell that boy he needs to eat meat like normal people."

I knew right then that Dean and I would get along just fine.

On the way to the Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn, Abi and I made one last, quick detour to see Montezuma's Castle National Monument.

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After staring at the ancient cliff dwelling for a few minutes, Abi turned to me and shared another of his invaluable Nuggets of Knowledge, saying, "Dude, it's not even a castle, it's just a fucking condo stuck in a cliff. I get it. Let's go."

I hate to say it, but I had to agree with this Nugget. And, dinner was calling. We made short work of the road between us and the Bunkhouse. I stopped to call Dean for final directions, and he said he'd meet us on his ATV and lead us the rest of the way.

We rode to the meeting point, and saw a few flashes from ATV headlights. Seeing our approach, Dean swung his four wheeler around and took off like a banshee!

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Who Is This Madman?

At one point I looked at the FJR speedometer, and I swear we were doing close to 70 MPH! It was all I could do to keep up with this guy, but as fast as he was, there was no way he was going to give us the slip. We'd come a fairly long way to see the mythical Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn.

And man, was the trip worth it!

[frenchy750]

The Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn. Getting there is half the fun!

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After a harrowing mini-adventure down a slick gravel road, which again, half of the group enjoyed, Dark Meat Snack and I finally arrived as guests of Dean and Pam, proud founders of the Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn.

Good guests don't show up empty handed. And while it's debatable if our merry little band of miscreants can actually be considered 'good' guests, at least I didn't show up empty handed.

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Before the trip started, I made Pam and Dean an unofficial proclamation claiming them as 'Honorary Subjects of the Kingdom of Rhode Island.'

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The Bunkhouse is an amazing place. Dean, who built almost the entire thing himself, gave us the tour, filling us in on its fascinating history at the same time.

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Dean and Pam - Two Fine Human Beings and Good Friends

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Dean and Pam bought this land sight unseen, and have turned it from some barren wilderness into a beautiful home. The entire compound is 'off the grid,' completely solar powered and completely self sufficient.

We sat down to a feast of epic proportions, and as fast as the piles of food went down, the piles of bullshit grew. The four of us stayed up very late telling stories and laughing. The best part of the Bunkhouse? Without question, MZ Pam's killer pies!!!

I know we toast the Best Day Ever all the time, but, in my long history of motorcycling around the globe, this honestly was the absolute Best Day Ever!

Dark Meat Snack and I settled into the serenity of the Bunkhouse, and quickly fell fast asleep.

Or at least he did. The chainsaw-like snoring reverberating through the Bunkhouse kept me wide awake. Earplugs didn't help. Moving to the couch didn't help. More beer didn't help. I thought about putting a pillow over his head and pushing down until the snoring stopped, and was about to actually do it when, miraculously, the most annoying sound ever stopped on its own.

The next morning, before breakfast, Dean took us on a tour of the property, showing us examples of Mz Pam's amazing stone work.

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During breakfast, or I should say another fantastic spread laid on by the lovely Mz. Pam, we watched The Weather Channel. Mother Nature's mood: Cantankerous. Reports of bad weather approaching the area gave the weather-heads fits of glee. We decided to leave before Ma Nature turned the gravel road into soup.

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With some quick hugs and promises for a return, we posed for a group photo then headed back out on the road.

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We made it back to the main road in hurry-up mode, wanting to stay ahead of the cold front. Happily, I switched on the iPod and settled in for a nice back road cruise through Arizona and into New Mexico.

Suddenly, I noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. The Dark Meat Snoring Wonder, normally filling my entire rear view mirror, was nowhere to be found. I pulled over and waited a few minutes for him to catch up.

Nothing.

Spider-sense tingling, I quickly turned around, fearing the worst. Dean had warned us about elk in the area, and I feared that a sneaky vegetarian elk might have sensed another vegetarian biker and jumped out in the road to greet him.

The problem wasn't quite that bad, but it was pretty bad. Somehow, Snowball's rear brake did its job a bit too well, locking up solid and making forward motion impossible.

Abi had already called Dean, who was on his way. Within seconds, as usually seems to happen when a motorcycle has a problem, someone pulled over to offer assistance.

The guy's name was Bruce, a painter, musician and rider from nearby. He told us there was a Kawasaki dealership in town, and offered to unload his truck - currently full of manure - and help us take Snowball to the doctor's office.

Dean showed up a few minutes later with some tools. He brushed everyone aside, diagnosed the problem and almost immediately fixed it.

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I must confess I know more about quantum physics than I do about motorcycle mechanics. I know where the gas goes. I know how many tires there should be, and where they attach to the bike. I also know you're supposed to change the air in the tires once a week, but I only do it about once every month. What can I say, I'm lazy. Thankfully Dean knows as much about motorcycle mechanics as he does about home building. He came out, turned a wrench, and calamity instantly changed into a comedy.

Then, being the consummate gentleman, our new friend tested Snowball by making a few WFO passes.

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And with that, we hit the road for real, heading southeast towards the Enchanted Land of New Mexico.

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And we rolled just in the nick of time, because Mother Nature's mood changed from cantankerous to downright cranky in almost an instant.

[Deans BMW]

Finer guests you will never have. And the stories, oh my God, the stories.........................

[DarthRider]

Dean, you should hit up Rhode Island for a stimulus package...you could get the B&B painted.

[frenchy750]

I don't know about getting the ENTIRE B&B painted... maybe you could get a few light bulbs or something though. Remember we are a SMALL state! In fact, I think Dean's property lines could just about encompass most of the Kingdom!

[Deans BMW]

I don't know about getting the ENTIRE B&B painted... maybe you could get a few light bulbs or something though. Remember we are a SMALL state! In fact, I think Dean's property lines could just about encompass most of the Kingdom!

Small but oh so powerful and far reaching. :eusa_clap:

[jamming]

Frenchy, glad you two enjoyed 89. One of my favorites. Wish I could have ridden with you and showed you up to Dean's personally.

[frenchy750]

Mother Nature is one fickle woman. One minute her mood is all cheerful and sunny, the next it's cantankerous, almost blatantly cranky.

The wind started picking up as we wound our way southeast down Route 180 towards New Mexico. First, the wind tried to blow me into the next lane, which was a fun adventure - for a while. However, being a bike-kite gets old pretty quick. Then, it got worse. The wind blew stronger, trying to blow my helmet and jacket off. Yeah, definitely a little less than fun now. We struggled to stay upright in the ferocious onslaught of Ma Nature.

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Blow... Blow... Blow the Man Down

She still wasn't done settling the score, so the wind speed picked up even more, trying to blow my bones right out of my skin. It was some of the hardest riding I've ever done.

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Mother Nature wasn't just angry with us. Dean called and reported that two hours after we left, the temperature plummeted, the skies opened up and the Motorcyclist Cafe Barn and Bunkhouse was now covered with a nice, white blanket of snow.

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On second though, the wind really wasn't so bad. And, as a bonus, the worst of Momma N's fury was short lived. I would say her mood once again swung, this time to Preoccupied, because the hurricane force winds calmed to occasionally gusty gales. Still exciting, but much less dangerous to ride in. At the time, there was no way to know that this wind was just a warm up for what was to come a few days later.

Blissfully ignorant of what lay ahead, we cheered as another great detour presented itself, this time to the New Mexican ghost town of Mogollon.


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A few miles of single track, and Dark Meat DirtLover was once again rewarded with a special treat.

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No cowboy greeted us at the entrance to this ghost town this time. There was no admission fee. There was nothing much at all, except for a few... residents? Some ghost town!

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There were no ghosts to be found either, so after a few half-assed photos, we kept on rolling towards Wrestlemania.

Soon after, Abi reported that his rear brake went from mostly spongy to non-existant. Yeah, I know... who uses the rear brake... but still, with the computers and linked ABS in these modern marvels, we were afraid the computer would decide it was too dangerous to ride and shut the bike down.

It was decision time. We pulled into a place called 'Gramma's' to get some of my favorite thinking food - apple pie.

As I was getting off Rain Cloud Follows, an elderly woman, possibly Gramma herself approached, took a look at the bright red 'North Face' logo on my stuff bag, and exclaimed, "North Face! You boys from Alaska or sumptin?"

"No, Ma'am, but one of these days we're gonna ride up there."

"Well, she said with an expressive nod, "Just go and do it. Don't wait!"

Good advice.

Fortified with some apple pie brain fuel, our decision was made. The closest Kawasaki dealership was about a hundred miles away in Las Cruces. A hundred miles in a straight line, but rear brake or no, this trip is not about straight lines. Besides, one of the most beautiful and fun roads I have ever had the pleasure of scrubbing my tires on, NM Route 152, was just too close to pass up.

152 is such a fun, awesome, broad smiler of a road that I didn't even take a single picture. And for me, that's really saying something.

In solidarity with my rear brakeless brother, I didn't touch my pedal once on the entire slalom course. Fun!

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The sun did what it always does at this time of day, perfectly timed with our second intersection with a straight line interstate highway.

Mr. Erdon would be proud.

Las Cruces is one of those places, but then again, I guess every place is really one of 'those places.' We checked into a nondescript hotel near Las Cruces Motorsports, with a doctor's appointment for Snowball at 10 the next morning.


Scanning the internet, we found this information on the possible cause of Snowball's rear brake failure:

Kawasaki is recalling 2008 Concours 14 motorcycles due to a problem with the rear brakes. Road debris may get trapped between the rear brake pedal and the rear master cylinder actuating arm, preventing the pedal from fully releasing. This could cause the rear brake to overheat and may lead to rear brake lock-up or failure.

Satisfied that some gravel somewhere mucked up the stoppers of his bike, we set out to find something fun to do in Las Cruces. Margarita toasts, a little variation from the ever present Best Day Ever theme, went down far too smoothly.

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By 11 AM, Richard at Las Cruces Motorsports had Snowball back in rolling condition.

And with two days (and one ride report) remaining until the dreaded Sunday crew call for the dreaded Wrestlemania setup, we were ready to roll the rest of the way to Houston.

[Deans BMW]

Glad Abi finaly got his rear brake fixed. You guys have the grandest rides and your ride reports are world class, thanks.

[DarthRider]

I'm glad Abi got his brake fixed too.
And Frenchy..."who uses their rear brakes...?" All the best riders I know. My favorite analogy about that: "Sure 90% of your braking power is in the front brake, but why not use that 10% in the rear as well? Would you cut off 10% of your pecker?!"
Linked brakes & such? Maybe not so much...who knows?
At the time that weather map shot was made, here in our little canyon 10 miles south of Amarillo, we were experiencing a small blizzard with 10" of snow, and 50MPH winds blowing it into 10' drifts and 20F. temps. Thank God for firewood & alcohol!
Looking forward to seeing you, Sleeping Beauty & Abi on Thursday!

[frenchy750]

Ah... Texas. The home of Wrestlemania XXV. And, more importantly, the final state of our mini tour-de-force. Everything is bigger in Texas, from the pickup trucks to the buffets to the speed limits.

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It takes a huge map to cover such a huge state. A map so huge it almost completely covers Rain Cloud Follows.

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On Wednesday, Sleeping Beauty arrived in San Antonio to hang out with her sister and family, and was eagerly awaiting our arrival. On the map, I-10 appeared to be a virtually straight line plummeting directly from El Paso to San Antonio.

I know she's waiting for me to get there, and we probably should hurry, but, interstate? Boooooring!

Route 90 also led to the home of the Alamo (remember that place?) and looked infinitely more interesting. Diing! We have a winner!

We made the briefest of stops on the Mexican-American border for a picture. It was brief because I was afraid drug lords would fire missiles or kidnap and behead me, because that is what television news has taught me happens when near Mexico.

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The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side (Of The Border)

Route 90 is one of my favorite kinds of roads. Sweeping expanses of near nothingness bisected by a well maintained dual carriageway. The chances of a local LEO revenue-collecting agent on patrol are virtually nil. The chances of that confused old lady on her cell phone ricocheting her antique Caddy off a curb and into a motorcycle are also pretty low. Yeah, could possibly be a longhorn steer in the road, but overall, these lonely paths are among my favorites.

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On these back roads, it's easy to drift off into thought, start to daydream, ponder the meaning of life, listen to the voices echoing in my head, and try and figure out where it all went wrong. Deep in a world of my own, I sped past... something... weird.

For a moment I was certain it was another hallucination, but, no. There it was in the rear view mirror. The weirdness of the something I passed, now confirmed to really exist, suddenly snapped me out of my revery, so I quickly signaled Dark Meat for a U-turn. Out in the absolute middle of absolute nowhere, with miles and miles of desolate nothingness surrounding us was this:

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Prada. In Marfa?

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A small plaque informed us that this was not an actual store, but an art project sponsored by local drug addicts, err... I mean... communities. Strange, but even that fact wasn't the strangest thing about it. The strangest thing of all? For some unknown reason, Dark Meat Snack knew the handbags in the art project were from the Fall 2005 Prada collection!

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Back on the road, I started slipping back into my semi-trance, until another weird attraction attracted my attention.

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I called a reliable resource - Unleaded, a proud member of the United States Air Force to ask about this abnormal blimp looking thing.

His response was typically cryptic. "Dude, I don't know. No idea. None. We have weird shit all over the place."

I know he knows, but if he tells me, he'd probably have to kill me.

And the oddness of Route 90 continued. No more daydreaming, I was actively looking for the next sight to behold. It wasn't a long wait.

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The Marfa Mystery Light Observatory

What appears to just be a rest room is actually much more. A large platform in back allows people to watch for some 'mysterious' lights. Legend has it that on a clear night, the mystery lights 'appear, move about, split apart, melt together, disappear and reappear.'

Personally, I think most nights there's probably a guy in the men's room selling hits of brown acid, though he wasn't there when we were. Thus, sadly, no mystery lights for us.

After this ocular feast, Route 90 calmed down. We rode through the barren landscape until it was time to start looking for a place to sleep. In the middle of nowhere, finding anything; gas, cell service, motels, even brown acid is difficult. Almost by default, the Budget Inn in Sanderson, TX became our home for the night.

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Abi went to the office, and spoke Hindi, the international language of low budget hotels with the startled owner. Guess there isn't much of a Hindi speaking population in Sanderson. The results of his efforts? He netted us $6 off the room! महान सफलता!!

Sanderson is more of a ghost town than Mogollon was.

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After a forgettable dinner at the Dairy King, we ended the night hanging out with some officers from the Texas Game Commission, also staying at the Budget Inn. Loaded with huge pickup trucks, rugged looking ATVs, big guns and bullet proof vests, they looked pretty well equipped for any kind of 'game.' I asked what game they were in Sanderson to play. "Mostly catching illegals, drug smugglers, looking for drug money. That kind of thing." Fun game.

The next day the scenery remained the same, with the added excitement of Border Patrol vehicles zipping around. I stopped counting at thirty-five trucks in twenty minutes. We had to stop for some traffic at a very strict US Department of Homeland Security checkpoint. The guard, a serious looking man dressed in quasi-army fatigues waved me over.

"Sir, are you an American citizen?"

"Yes."

"OK." He waved me through.

Tax dollars hard at work.

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Bridge Over The River Pecos

In the wild, you eat lunch when you can. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. Jim Holly's Place became my latest culinary investigation.

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The stylish decor and innovative use of porcelain in front that greet customers impressed me.

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The innovative re-purposing of a used paper lunch sack for a menu was also a distinct touch of class.

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And the food? Surprisingly good too!

Turning inland, civilization started creeping back. Red lights. McDonalds. Traffic. Sprawl. Confused old ladies on cell phones in antique Caddies. We were back.

And a few hours later, we were in San Antonio, and I was finally reunited with my beautiful Sleeping Beauty.

That reunion was short lived, however, as Fiona had to fly home to work the next morning, and Dark Meat Snack and I had to complete our mission - finding the end of The Road to Wrestlemania.

[1MPH]

We made the briefest of stops on the Mexican-American border for a picture. It was brief because I was afraid drug lords would fire missiles or kidnap and behead me, because that is what television news has taught me happens when near Mexico.

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So did you claim it for the Kingdom of Rhode Island?

[frenchy750]

Not yet.

Maybe in September, but not yet...

[Deans BMW]

Hey Jack, we have been missing you, How you doing?

[1MPH]

Hey Jack, we have been missing you, How you doing?

Very well Dean. Thanks.

My wife and I spent about a month exploring "The Lost Coast" and "the Avenue of the Giants" in Norcal.

Jack

[frenchy750]

With Fiona safely on her way home, Dark Meat and I packed up our junk for the last time on this leg of our journey, took a picture with Fiona's sister and beautiful family, then slogged our way four hours east to our final destination - Houston.

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Fiona's Sister Denise and Family

The end of a ride, any ride, is always miserable. And knowing what lay in store from us in the coming days didn't help at all. This particular Wrestlemania, number XXV, is my XIth time working the show. I know from past experience that a week of complete, utter and absolute chaos is just around the corner.

We made our way from one set of friends house to another, rolling along Route 290 from San Antonio to Houston. My friend Pat, another of the WWE audio crew, just happens to live in the same city that Wrestlemania is in, so we stopped by to drop off some extra gear with him.

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Pat and Family

And with that last, symbolic gesture (leaving my dirty clothes in Pat's garage) the Road to Wrestlemania was officially over. Time to get to work.

This is where it starts to get weird.

Leaving Pat's house, Abi and I rode directly to Houston Intercontinental Airport and parked in the Green 10 section of the C Concourse garage. Although Wrestlemania is being held in Houston, TX, before we get to have all that fun, we have to fly to New York and set up for a Wrestlemania press conference at the Hard Rock Cafe. Of course.

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Hard Rock Press Conference - Audio Room - NCP 7 Mobile Unit

After two days of working (and washing my fried liver) in NY, it was straight back to Houston's other airport - Hobby. Houston is so big it has two airports! For comparison, the entire Kingdom of Rhode Island only has one. And unlucky for us, when we landed, we realized the motorcycles were parked 45 miles away at Concourse C Green 10 section of the other airport - Intercontinental.

Of course. Wrestlemania is one problem after another. An $80 cab ride solved our current problem.

Then, it was time to set up for the big show. The scale of Wrestlemania is so much larger than what we normally do, everything is magnified by a factor of ten. 72,000 people were expected to attend, as opposed to our normal average of 14,000. As I said, everything is bigger in Texas.

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Dark Meat Snack and I set up for two days, then had to leave for the Toyota Center. Every year we end up working the 'smaller' show, the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony on Saturday.

Smaller, but still complex.

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Hall of Fame - Audio Room - Denali Silver Mobile Unit

The Hall of Fame setup was a nightmare, but the show was a success. Completing that broadcast, it was straight back to the Wrestlemania venue for final checks and tests before the big day.

It may look like all work and no play, but somehow we manage to find a little time each day for some fun.

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With enough begging, a little time can also be found for a clandestine photo shoot.

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Suddenly, it was show time. 72,744 fans, eagerly anticipating the show we spent the past week building, perched at the edge of their seats. As they always do, adrenaline levels increase during those final moments before a live broadcast. The producer starts the final sequence. "Tonight's a good night to have a good night everyone. Black the house." House lights fade, and the crowd erupts. The sequence continues. "Five - Four - Three - Two - One. Roll and track Z and put it on the Tron."

With that simple command, Wrestlemania XXV officially was underway.

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People cheered. Kid Rock rocked. Wrestling happened. Everything we spent so long setting up, testing, moving, changing, re-testing and re-checking worked flawlessly.

In other words, it was a good night.

Four hours later, that good night ended. It was time to put away our toys and move on.

And the very next day, the Road Away From Wrestlemania began.

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TO BE CONTINUED...

[Deans BMW]

Frenchy, that is un F**king unbeliveable.

Thanks for taking us along.

[Elsie Smith]

Thanks so much for such entertaining adventures
and pictures!

[Sir Limpsalot]

Lost for words..

Si.

[Ed K]

Wow Frenchy, fantastic stories and pics!

[SV Andy]

:eusa_clap::eusa_clap::eusa_clap::eusa_clap:

[JCsman]

Lost for words..

Si.

Wish I'd thought to say that.

Top notch Frenchy. As always.

[frenchy750]

The road took an unexpected turn at Wrestlemania when Abi received terrible news. Just before the show started, he learned his cousin Kapil passed away in Trinidad. Abi and Kapil were as close as brothers, in fact when he told me what had happened, he said, "My... my brother. He... he... died. I have to go home."

The least of his worries at that moment was his motorcycle. Fellow Houstonian and WWE audio crew member Pat graciously offered to store it at his house as long as Dark Meat Snack needed. He also graciously offered to ride it to Oklahoma City, the end point of this leg of the journey.

Funny thing; a LOT of people offered to ride Abi's motorcycle to Oklahoma City. Most of the crew in fact. That's what friends are for!

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The Entire 2182 Mile Route to Wrestlemania

After Wrestlemania, Monday's show was nearby at the Toyota Center in downtown Houston. When that show ended, Abi, Pat and I rode to Pat's house, where Snowball was sadly parked for a while. The WWE made arrangements for Abi to fly to Trinidad on Tuesday to attend the funeral. Pat, a fellow rider with a sweet 100th Anniversary Harley Springer Softail planned to ride with me to Tuesday's WWE show in Austin.

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Austin or Bust

Tuesday's show in Austin was a blur. By that point, after Wrestlemania but with one show still left to go, the crew is usually so zorched that communication is reduced to mostly grunts and occasional swearing. 'Go Fuck Yourself Tuesday' is my least favorite work day of the year, even though there finally is some light at the end of the long, long tunnel.

I woke at the crack of very late morning on Wednesday, feeling relieved and refreshed, but also a bit somber. In honor of the memory of Kapil, I flew my ever-present Kingdom of Rhode Island flag at half staff.

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Pat left for home, and I left for Abilene, where I would meet Sleeping Beauty. It was a melancholy beginning to the Road Away From Wrestlemania, and I was soon lost deep in my thoughts.

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Rear View - Empty

The route I chose was as good as any, since there is no direct route from Austin to Abilene. The Texas Hill Country Trail is pretty and scenic; and became the perfect antidote to my case of the blues.

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I came upon the strangest herd of cattle I'd ever seen.

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On this little trail, filled with all kinds of animals, the buzzards rule supreme. I saw tons of recently deceased deer on the roadside, and tons of buzzards devouring the carcasses. Buzzards are industrious and tireless creatures, as I realized when I saw a pile of what appeared to be completely picked clean, completely meat-free cow bones in a field.

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In three hours, I only saw one other vehicle. With such traffic free roads, I had time to take a picture I've always wanted to take; a tribute to the cover of Neil Peart's excellent book Ghost Rider. (http://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Rider-Travels-Healing-Road/dp/1550225480/ref=sr_1_2?ie=UTF8&s=books&qid=1239647005&sr=8-2)

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And so the day went. It was a good way to get my head cleared from Wrestelemania's week of Animal Husbandry Experiments, and ready for the final three days of the ride. In a masterful stroke of brilliant planning (actually complete dumb luck, but don't tell her,) I made it to Abilene Regional Airport - which could easily be the world's smallest airport - just as Fiona's flight was landing.

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Yee-Haaa!! Sleeping Beauty - Awake in Abilene

For this grand occasion, we splurged on the best hotel in town. A lovely gazebo sat in the middle of a lush courtyard, the perfect place to sit and watch a romantic sunset. We poured some refreshing adult beverages, and set out hand in hand to toast the end of the Almost-Best Day Ever.

Trying to get as comfortable as possible, I took off my riding boots and walked barefoot to the gazebo. Fiona mildly scolded me for not wearing shoes, but she knows how stubborn I am, so, after shaking her head at me she almost immediately dropped it.

The second I walked on that grass, I regretted my stupid stubborn streak. White hot needles of pain tore through the soles of my feet. I thought I was just walking on dry grass, but every step made the pain worse until it was intolerable. She knew something was wrong when I spilled my beer in a sprint for the safety of the concrete. As I took the pressure off my feet, the pain got worse, radiating up my legs.

Concerned, my lovely nurse came over to see if I was faking a problem yet again. Her concern turned to laughter almost immediately. As she giggled, red hot pokers ignited everywhere on my feet. After she stopped laughing long enough to talk, her response was, "Oh my God! I need to get my camera!"

Sticking out of my feet were about three thousand seeds covered with needle-like barbs shaped like fishhooks. A lesser mortal would have instantly succumbed to an injury as grievous as this, but not me. I'm stubborn! The pain was unbearable, but at least Fiona got a good laugh out of my misery. This kind of thing always happens to me; for anyone that wonders what Fiona sees in me, it's definitely the comic relief.

Thankfully, I'd locked the room key inside the room, something else that I seem to excel at. Her camera was safely locked inside. No pictures this time.

After an hour of really fun debriding, and really fun ball busting, I was able to hobble again. With Sleeping Beauty in tow, I limped over to a restaurant for dinner and refreshing adult liquid painkillers. Properly medicated, we headed back to the hotel.

The last thing I did before calling it a night was check my email to see if DarthRider, the yet-unmet friend who'd graciously invited us to stay at his home on this trip had tried to get in touch. We were looking forward to imposing ourselves on Dave and his lovely wife Betty's generosity the very next day.

Dave had gotten in touch, with an ominous note:

Hey Frenchy -

Man, as bad as I hate to say it, Thursday is looking rough!
That "wind event" in this area Thurs is now forecast to be worse than thought. They are forecasting winds from the W-NW at 50, gusting to 60 MPH, 65 F.

I hate to say this and we will be very disappointed if it has to go this way, but you might want to think about a Plan B. I would consider laying low when you pick up Fiona and heading North for OKC Fri AM. Maybe explore as far Thurs as the wind allows.

We would be truly delighted if it works for Thurs, and anything can happen in the highly & quickly changeable weather in the Texas Panhandle. So I'd suggest waiting to make the final decision as long as you can so we can watch the weather.

If it works out we will love to have you, if not you have a rain-check for any and every opportunity to come by our little canyon.

What do you think?
Dave

Before heading to bed, I jotted a quick response:

Dave,

If I based my rides on weather predictions, I'd never go anywhere.

Unless there is a hurricane or unless it is really unsafe and impossible, Fiona and I will be there Thursday at some point. I will call you tomorrow morning before we head out of Abilene. No Plan B for me.

See you tomorrow night!

PS: I'm not gonna watch the weather channel or look at it online. Those people hate motorcycles anyway.

I'll look at the sky tomorrow morning, and if I see any wind, I'll shake my fist at it!

As I said, stubbornness is one of my better qualities. Sometimes I can be so dumb.

[JCsman]

So sorry to hear of the loss. Our thoughts are with Abi.

[frenchy750]

A 'Wind Event?'

What a joke! That's what the weather-heads called it. Calling the ferocious, ridiculously high gusts of rapidly moving air a 'Wind Event' is like calling the sinking of the Titanic a 'Boating Event.'

Mother Nature's mood that morning could best be summed up with two words: Sucks and Blows. If we put something down while loading Rain Cloud Follows, it blew away. Fiona's sunglasses disappeared for a while, we finally found them twenty feet away behind a curb. My gloves ended up under a parked car. I'm honestly surprised the motorcycle hadn't blown over in the night. We both were laughing at the strength of the wind, but it wasn't a funny laugh, it was more of the nervous, 'Are-we-really-going-to-try-and-ride-in-this-shit' kind.

As soon as we got on the road, the laughing stopped, and the crying began. Rain Cloud Follows bucked like a rodeo bull as the angry masses of air attacked. Immediately, a huge gust of wind grabbed my map holder and tried to launch my map to Oz.

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Then, we passed a freshly plowed field. The hurricane force sent dirt and dust flying across the road, coating everything with a fine film of grit, making it impossible to see.

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The bike pitched around violently, and I leaned at ridiculous angles just to keep it going straight. Gusts would blow us across the lane and back with alarming regularity. Frustrated, I pulled off the highway.

I turned and shouted to Fiona, "I don't know about this!"

She shouted back, "We're already in it, let's keep going for a while!" Turning around to make sure I heard correctly, I noticed she was actually smiling.

She is the voice of reason in this relationship. She is also 100% crazy.

I got back on the road, and the wind showed no mercy. It pummeled us from the left, and when that got tiring, it switched around and pummeled us from the right. It was extremely brutal riding.

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Futilely Shaking My Fist at the Wind

Note the building behind me in the picture. I think the third Little Pig lived there, and even though this house was made of stone, Mother Nature huffed and puffed, and the roof blew clean off.

One interesting byproduct of all this wind is fire. We passed burning buildings and brush fires as we fought our way through the onslaught.

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Riding in vicious wind like this is a lot like hitting yourself in the head with a hammer. It feels really good when you stop.

Two hundred seventy miles later, it felt really good when we finished battling the wind for the day and arrived at our new friend DarthRider's house.

Since I started posting ride reports, DarthRider, a.k.a. Dave has consistently extended an invitation for us to come and stay with him and his wife Betty. Way back in the 'Map-kin Planning' days, I realized that Dave's home was somewhat close to Houston, relatively speaking, and gladly accepted his kind offer.

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Don, Dave, Betty and Two Windblown Strangers in Amarillo

Dave, his wife Betty and friend Don extended every courtesy and kindness to us, stories and laughs were swapped, beers were drained, a fantastic steak dinner was consumed and we stayed up late into the cool and mercifully windless night. It will never cease to amaze me that total strangers can forge such an instant bond, all because of a shared love of motorcycles.

That's why I ride.

The next morning we slept in, recovering from the beating Mother Nature doled out the day before. Though we had plans to meet Keith somewhere and ride to his house in Oklahoma City - the self-designated end of this leg of the ride - there was too much to see around DarthRider's home town to just leave.

Later that morning, Don returned with his Harley, Dave fired up his Triumph, and we motored out to nearby Palo Duro Canyon State Park.

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Donson on the Digital Bitch

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Dave on his Wheelie Machine

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New Friends in Palo Duro State Park

From the canyon, DarthRider led me and Sleeping Beauty to another place that has long been on my list of places to see; Stanley Marsh 3's Cadillac Ranch! (note: it's NOT Stanley Marsh the Third, it is Stanley Marsh Three. What else would you expect from a nutter that buries ten Cadillacs halfway in the ground?)

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World Famous Cadillac Ranch

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Fiona's inner vandal made a rare appearance, as she picked up a half used can of spray paint and started tagging one of the Caddys, showing everyone how they do it back in the 626!

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After this blatant act of graffiti, it was time to say goodbye to Dave. Keith, a.k.a Unleaded from the Great Unsponsored Nova Scotia Expedition was already en route to Elk City, our designated meeting place, and all this sightseeing and wanton destruction of private property had put us behind schedule.

With little choice, Sleeping Beauty and I jumped on the superhighway, a bittersweet straight-line way to end the journey, but, due to the lack of time, completely necessary.

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Unleaded in Elk City

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Unleaded Proudly Rides Little Baby Ooops

The ride to Casa Unleaded was mostly uneventful, save for one interesting photo op I spied and quickly snapped as a tribute to my missing riding buddy Abi.

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An Official Oklahoma City Lighthouse

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A few hundred miles of highway later, we arrived at Keith's house, eagerly anticipating our last meeting of the ride - Little Baby Ooops herself.

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Danica - The Newest Expedition Member

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Sleeping Beauty Looks Comfortable... A Little TOO Comfortable!!

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Gratuitous Cute Baby Pics

Pulling into Keith's garage for the final time, I had that familiar melancholy feeling. Fiona would fly out (again) and I would go back to work (already) and the first leg of this early season ride would come to a close (too soon). Though it had its share of ups and downs, we toasted the Best Day Ever, the Best Friends Ever, the Best Ride Ever, and the Best Baby Ever until we were completely out of happy juice.

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The Entire 3140 Mile Route

Rain Cloud Follows will rest comfortably in Oklahoma for a while, but that doesn't mean no riding for us motorcycle addicts. In May, Fiona and I go down, to Australia and a week of riding a rented FJR on the wrong side of the road with my old friend Dan. Then, in early June we'll head back to Oak City for the second leg of this ride, doing Denver and a return to the Motorcyclist Cafe Barn and Bunkhouse. If we're lucky (and I have to say it, we are VERY VERY lucky!) by mid summer we'll end up in a dark bar somewhere in my adopted home of California with another napkin and frosty pint of Guinness in hand making some more ride plans.

Until then, Happy Riding!

[Sir Limpsalot]

Splendid, as always. A familiar melancholy feeling is coming over me as I come to terms with having to wait untill May for your next report..

Cheers,
Si.

[JCsman]

"Wind event"? You had me confused with that term. I thought you were still referring to your time around Dean......

Glad you made it to Dave's and the experience was great (I'm envious).

As usual, a great write up and pictures. Like Simon, the lag time to the next report is sad news.

[Donson]

Frenchy,I am glad to see I didnt break Your camera! It was great to meet the two of You,and I look forward to seeing Yall again. Be safe, My Friends!:)

[demenshea]

I swear I am speechless, this is the "best ride report ever". :eusa_clap:

[Gord]

Frenchy - I admit that I have avoided this thread. Like you, my life has become one of weekly commutes (Toronto to Calgary or Toronto to Winnipeg) and I find that I only get chances to jump into the Cafe for snippets of living vicariously through everyone else. Your threads do not deserve snippets. They are to be savoured like a last meal, like the love of your life, or like a moment in ecstasy! Hence I have neglected this thread until tonight. Mercifully, my customer has let me stay home for a week. So I sit here with a Johnny Walker Black (I am no snob. It is a great blend) and have been enjoying your ride report.

You and DMS have my profound respect for your ability to roll up miles on 2 wheels. Your further earn my respect for your ability to convert your pictures and experiences into a great story line. Brian who heads up the group I have ridden with in the past keeps all our records and publishes a great ride report. And it is huge work (I am still not sure I ever finished the final chapter of my Newfoundland 2006 ride report). So you have my admiration for your story telling. Gripping stuff.

But this is not about sucking up to you! (Oh, I know you are disappointed - okay, maybe a little). There were a few things that jumped out at me as I read your narrative that I felt compelled to comment on:

You mention expending Greenhouse Gases. Yeah, motorcycling is a bitch. Bikes spew shit into the atmosphere that screw the environment. Hard to believe the damn things were around to cause the polar ice cap that covered North America to recede. Damn two-wheeled pricks need to be outlawed!
Your Vulture City photos were stellar. I had this sense of Edward Hopper. I know he specialized in portraying people in every day situations, but the shadows in your pictures were very Hopperesque in my mind. Nicely done.
I am envious of your visit to the MCB&B. I will get there one day. Your description of your time there and the timeliness of Dean in responding to your call for help is proof enough of the quality of the people who are members of the Cafe.

Yet another stellar ride report! Looking forward to the next one!

[Boxerboy]

Good stuff Frenchy.

I've just been showing my 10 yo WWE nut your pictures of Wrestlemania. He knows all about Wrestlemania but won't get to see it here (in Oz) he tells me.

We was very impressed with the report. I tried to impress upon him the grandness of your ride report, but he was having nothing of that!

Great read. Thanks.

Sad news for DMS though. Abi, condolonces headed your way.

[triniboy]

Thanks everyone for the kind words. Sorry i wasn't able to meet you in person Dave. I am sure we will make it back your way at some point.

DMS

[DarthRider]

Thanks everyone for the kind words. Sorry i wasn't able to meet you in person Dave. I am sure we will make it back your way at some point.

DMS


Abi, you will have a "temporary home" here as often and as long as you ever need it!
Come when you can Bro, grilled & chilled goodies await!
Betty & I were very sorry to hear of your loss...