Tucson/Benson, Arizona behind me now and I'm heading for Las Cruces, New Mexico.
Windy ride.
Winds running 25 to 35 MPH and gusting even higher, I'm really getting bounced around.
Big rigs sailing by me bring more wind gusting.
What a ride.
I pulled off the road early at Deming, NM and called it a day.
Didn't even try to set up the tent camper, and pulled in to a Days Inn instead.
The motel room was big and most important, out of the wind.
Should be a better ride tomorrow.
And indeed it was.
The wind had turned and I was riding in the cradle.
A great tail wind behind me and the machine was running swift and easy.
I made a quick stop at the Lordsburg, New Mexico McDonald's for coffee and to use the great McD's WiFi.
I
keep trying to update the kids Facebook Group, "Where In The World Is
Grandpa" as often as possible and McD's is the quickest place to do
that.
Not this time though.
The big guy with a full set of leathers looked over from another table and said, "Mind if I join you?"
He brought his coffee over and asked about my ride.
"I parked next to your rig out there, and that is quite a set up."
I asked about his ride.
"DR 650," he said.
Now I knew there would be a story here.
The DR 650 Suzuki is not only a great street bike, it handles the off road runs too.
"I'm on my way home to BC after riding all the way to the southern tip of Argentina."
At that point a young rider sitting at another table said, "Did you say DR 650? That's what I'm riding too."
WOW! I could see another story coming on.
I said "Where has your ride taken you?"
He said, "I made it as far as Costa Rica, but money started running out so I'm on my way home to BC too."
Here were two kindred spirits, running their own ride, but meeting at a McDonald's Restaurant in the middle of New Mexico.
Bob Weeks was the tall guy with gray hair and beard.
Tom Trautmansdorf was the younger man with black hair and beard.
They had fulfilled whatever dream it was that took them from Canada through the USA and deep into South America.
What fantastic stories they would have for their children and grand children.
As we talked other customers seemed to gravitate into the section we were sitting at and seemed to move even closer to hear the biker stories that were being shared by three strangers in the middle of New Mexico.
I finally had to say, "Guys I have really enjoyed meeting you and hearing your stories, but I have to move on, the family Houston is expecting me."
But I knew I would never forget my chance meeting with Bob Weeks and Tom Trautmansdorf. Great guys and they had both made a gutsy ride through some rough country that most of us would never dare to make.
I knew I would be stopping off in Kerrville and Fort Stockton before seeing the smiling faces of Joni, Gary, Stan Smith and the others in Houston so I needed to get back on the road.
West Texas Hill Country, they call it.
It's a long way between towns in West Texas.
Lots of miles, rolling tree covered hills to see and interesting people to visit with.
This was a long ride day.
360 miles across New Mexico and into Texas with a tail wind lending strength to my machine.
Rode into Kerrville at 4:30 but another chance meeting with a couple of interesting bikers held me up.Howard Wong and Brian Rudy were Vancouver British Columbia attorneys who had planned ahead for a great ride through the southern USA.
Six months earlier when all was warm and sunny, they had ridden their Harley Davidson machines to San Luis Obispo in southern California and put them in storage..
Now as the cold of winter held sway over their homeland, they took a plane ride to California, picked up their bikes and began a ride which would take them to San Antonio, Austin and other Texas cities and would lead them to Daytona for the big Bike Week gathering in March.
What were the odds that I would meet four people from British Columbia in the wilds of New Mexico and that they would each have their own dream and their own ideas about what constituted a great ride through this fantastic land we call America.
Fort Stockton was a Texas city I had stayed in when I was heading west and now on the eastern run I was there again.
Yesterdays tail winds had changed in to South East head winds with some heavy rain.
Arriving sat Fort Stockton I was soaked through. Even my waterproof boots were soaked and I could wring water out of my socks as I held cold feet in front of the portable electric heater I carried in the rig.
Stepping out the motel room door I met another biker headed for Daytona Beach and Bike Week.
Guido was from Switzerland and had borrowed a US friends Yamaha for a ride through the south.
Wearing his Frog Togs wet suit he had managed to avoid some of the weather but not all. He was also in the process of drying out wet clothes.
Guido was full of praise for the people he had met and the country he had seen on his sojourn through the US and was looking forward to meeting a lot of interesting bikers at Bike Week.
As we visited a man who identified himself as Fuzzy, stepped out of his room and began checking over his truck.
He was an artist and was headed to Bike Week to set up his portable paint booth and to send some bikers home with decorations they didn't expect to have when they rode in.
He also sold paintings he had prepared before leaving his Texas home.
HOUSTON!
The remainder of the trip into Houston was uneventful and a good smooth ride.
SIRI helped me find my way through the suburbs to Richmond where my brother-in-law Stan Smith was ready to offer me a dry and less windy place to stay then the one I had been used to these past weeks on the road.
We had a great time at dinner the next night with my daughter Joni, her husband Gary and daughter Jerusha, as well as Stan's daughter Shelli, her husband John and son Johnny.
That was a fun evening with many stories to share.
I decided to begin the final leg of my trip from Houston to Lake Mary, Florida a day early.
Always fearful of the Houston morning rush hour traffic I took my leave in the rain and fog on a Sunday morning.
The Sam Houston Tollway was one wet, foggy place to be at 8am on a Sunday morning.
I had carefully stowed a twenty dollar bill in the side pocket of my rain gear, preparing for the tolls to come.
Stopping at the first "pay with change" toll booth I pulled a wet, soggy bill from the rain coat pocket.
"I was trying to keep it dry for you," I called in to the lady who looked somewhat amused at the sight of a dripping biker.
She deducted the toll and wrapped the change in a couple of paper towels to try and keep it dry for the next one.
It did seem to help as I handed the next toll collector a crumpled up wad of paper towels with some not nearly as soggy bills sticking out.
Each toll collector found wetter and wetter paper money, but eventually I had paid the last one and was back on I-10 Eastbound and headed for what I hoped would be warmer climes.
The rain and fog stayed with me until I reached the Louisiana border where the first rays of sunshine peaked through a leaden gray sky.
I was pretty wet, but sunshine helped and Slidell, LA came in to view in early afternoon and I pulled into a KOA to make camp.
NO RAIN!
What a great feeling to have the heater on and things drying out.
Leaving Slidell at 8am the next morning I prepared for a long day in the saddle.
368 miles to Tallahassee, Florida which would then be an easy 240 mile ride to Lake Mary.
I was making good time and pulled in to a Florida Welcome Center to take a break.
As I dismounted and began removing my helmet I was hailed by a couple who had passed me several miles back.
The Harley they were hauling on the trailer would be their ride when they checked in to their Daytona Bike Week motel.
They were from Austin, Texas and were ready for a big week at Daytona.
Julie, who had seen the 80 Year Old Rider sign on the back of my bike said, "I can't believe you are 80 years old."
Bill said, "Hell man, my bikes on a trailer and I'm only 60 years old and I still can't keep up with you."
Seems they had passed me a couple of times and each time they got ahead of me they would stop for a break and I would pull ahead of them.
We had a good visit and a couple of laughs and then it was time for me to get back on the road.
The ride south on I-95 was busy but uneventful.
Many bikers were on their way south, most of them trailering their ride or hauling them in the back of a truck. Not too many of them riding.
My strange looking rig with sidecar and tent trailer was the object of some bemused looks by more conventional bikers.
The biker community is a tight knit group and every time I have had a problem there has been someone there to help, and the two gallon gas can I carry on the back of the sidecar has filled gas tanks for others more often then it has filled mine.
SIRI brought me through the Orlando suburbs and to the driveway of my daughter Diana and her husband Ilidio was there in the driveway to greet me.
It was great to be off the road and relaxing by the pool.
From C 2 C 2 C is the way the Iron Butt Association terms the ride from the Atlantic to the Pacific and back to the Atlantic.
This was the ride I had just completed.
What a Grand Adventure.
Watch for me, I'll be in the Right Lane America.
Del "Lonnie" Lonnquist
A young guy driving a pick up truck was in lane four and when I skidded into his lane he braked hard and somehow was able to stop four or five feet back without hitting me.
