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Singing in the Rain.

Apalachicola wasn’t just a great name it was a beautifully kept clapperboard town. As we cruised through it became another place I’d love to come back to.

The day started well but before long the black clouds gathered and began to test our gear, which worked well. Except it ran down the outside of the wets straight into my shorty summer boots.

I’d taken the gamble that we would get more heat than rain and my rain boots were also too big for hand luggage. Result, webbed feet and much use of the hotel hair dryer. It was all day swimming in there but at least it wasn’t cold.

Jorg the laughing German used his dangerous plastic over boot things. The ones that had resulted in a broken shoulder on a previous trip. Personally I’d have set fire to them. He did however have dry feet.

The rain set in pretty much all day. The traffic along the coast line was bumper to bumper stop go. Resulting in very slow progress and lots of heavy clutch work.

We diverted from one traffic jam only to ride into another and of course over here you can’t filter. Defeating part of the point of riding a motorcycle. One because it’s not legal in most states and two because these tractors are just too bloody big. So you have to sit in the traffic, watching the temperature go up to 220f degrees, feet down, feet up, feet down.

These iron horses don’t like to track straight under 11mph either. They’re just difficult and of course you’re well aware of the weight at crawling pace.

We did make the smart move of stopping for a 1 1/2 hr lunch while the worst of the seriously heavy rain blew over. The Mexican was good but I made a point of leaving most of the rice because it would have bloated me on the bike. Surprisingly they didn’t do decaf so a full cafined Cawfee kept me sharp on the bike. The rain felt like needles in my face so out came the buff and part of the time I had to ride with my left hand in front of my face.

In short we concluded it was a crap day which should have been about 3 1/5 hrs but turned into 8 1/2 but we did get to Pensacola where the hotel turned out to be good even though it wasn’t finished. Which strangely enough they hadn’t mentioned on Booking.con

We laid various plans for Friday when try as we might the only way of avoiding a serious amount of rain would be to change route completely and head up to Oklahoma!

We didn’t go out. We’d eaten enough and seen enough of that day.

 

Not so Sweet home Alabama.

We hot footed it from Pensacola. Going through Alabama we stopped off for a Cawfee. A small stretch of Alabama comes down to the shoreline and the only thing I can tell you about the state is the girl behind the counter at the coffee shop moved at the speed of a sloth on Valium. She was not interested in serving us. When Jorg asked her to serve us she said she was doing the drive-by ordering.

At that point there was no drive-by ordering being done, the window was shut. Nonetheless, she was not going to stir herself and her exceptionally long eyelashes weren’t going to sweep the floor or make up for her attitude problem or weight problem. It was surprising in such a service orientated Country. There were 3 people milling around, eventually, a young guy came out from the back and served us, he was fine. I have to say it was the worst coffee I’ve had in the USA. Normally it’s good.

We crossed into Louisiana, took photos and headed on down to New Orleans where I’ve wanted to go for many a year.

We headed to Bourbon Street and the French quarter. Oh what a disappointment. It’s like so many tourist places nowadays they just turn to trash. The spectacle has gone.

Having spent many years working around Soho in London it reminded me of that area, only worse. In fact I concluded it was like the worst of Oxford Street and Soho but with French shutters and added tat.

Apparently there are better areas but we won’t be going back.

 

Into the Night.

Coming out of New Orleans it was madness on the road. There’s a long elevated section which goes across the swamp. Once again I wish I could have taken pictures on the move.

A weaving nutter nearly took Jorg out, at one point I looked in my mirrors and filling them was an enormous black Kenwood truck. Chrome exhaust stacks standing metres high either side belching smoke. It just looked like a rear view mirror scene from the film Duel.

Once we were away from the City things calmed down a bit, although it was a pretty busy road all day. Yesterday we took the decision that we had to use the interstate Expressway. Something we didn’t really want to do but if we’re going to get across this country, we’ve ‘gotta’ do some sections of it. In fact who knows how many sections of it, which is a bit disappointing because you don’t see what you see on the minor roads.

If I did this again and I might do it again, I would hire the bike for a month not 15 days. That way it would give plenty of time to actually stop and absorb things on the way. Not just chase all across the states like a delivery boy.There are so many interesting things to see.

The easiest way to get to Galveston from the east is to go along Bolivar Peninsula and catch the ferry into Galveston, which amazingly is absolutely free. I guess they just want to get people to come to Galveston.

We caught the ferry and are now in Galveston

Tonight’s hotel was reasonably priced, we decided to have a room each rather than do any sharing. The fish meal was ok but nowhere near as good as my South African friends had cooked for us only two or three weeks ago. It was light, except for the gloop they’d poured over it.

Cut to 1.35 am and my room phone rings, it’s the front desk. Apparently there are two Pizzas there for me. What’s the time, is it breakfast time?

“It’s 1.35am, I didn’t order Pizzas I was asleep.”

“Sir, that is room 314 right”?

“Yes”.

“You have to come down and collect them”.

“Listen, let me be absolutely clear. I did…not…order…Pizza”.

“It’s got your room number on it”.

“Well, it’s obviously some kind of a mistake. It’s obviously for another room”.

I put the phone down. It rang again.

“Why did you come to America”?
And that is when he lit my fuse.

“What”? I got his name and when he slightly stammered over his surname, doubt flickered through my mind.

“You British, you’re so entitled”.

“You’re so fired in the morning you don’t even know it”. I told him calmly. I slammed the phone down again. Surely the front desk wouldn’t say that? Surely.

Two minutes later, the phone rings again:

“The pizzas are still here. You need to come down and collect them, I can’t have them sitting on the desk, would you like some scones and tea with them”.

“ OK, very funny but what you need to know is, this time, you’ve picked the wrong person. I’m part of Special Services. We will find you and we will punish you. Is that clear”. I put the phone down and let him stew on it. I tried dialling the front desk but it was permanently engaged. Weird, very weird. Not only that I only have data on my mobile phone. I can’t call US landlines. So I couldn’t call the front desk. I left the room phone off the hook.

Paranoia cut in. I decided to go down to the front desk and check it out but what if this is a scam to get me out of my room and rinse me out while I was downstairs. I took my credit cards and money with me and I hid my passport and new iPad which just fitted underneath the settee.

Of course there was a very polite young lady on reception who knew nothing about it. I got back to the room and the key card wouldn’t work to let me into the room! Cut to the music from Jaws.
Der, dum. Der dum. Der dumdum, dumdum.

Back to the front desk to get a new card and I hatched a plan in case someone came banging on the door. As I was heading back to the lift a guy of about 70 came out. As he walked towards me I realised he had slightly wide eyes. I stopped him and asked if he’d had a hoax call and surprised he said;

“Yeah, I think I have. Are you the manager”?

The caller had called him in the next room and asked him to go and knock on my door because I wasn’t responding, at 2am! Poor fella. Imagine if I’d been in the room when he was knocking on the door, I’d have flipped out. It was like the beginning of some movie plot.

I went back to the front desk with the guy and changed rooms. Meanwhile Mr Hoax who had a calm voice, not drunk, had been calling other rooms.

I’m wide awake. I thought I might as well start writing.

 

Here comes the rain again.

Pedro and Jorg the laughing German had hatched a plan for the day. Their theory was leave by 10.00 Push through the worst of it then after that it will get better. I wasn’t keen but hey, the alternative was another night or two at the Galveston telephone exchange. I won’t be going there again either.

A huge bank of rain up to 6” was coming in, and we’d get across this part of Texas relatively in front of it. So we carefully left Galveston and headed out on Interstate 10. After six whole minutes, I felt a little bit of wetness at the top of my left boot but if I put it in a certain position, it didn’t seem to run into the boot, which was a bit of a result. I’ve no idea why the left one fills up quicker than the right but that’s the way it is.

The entire sky was that Tupperware shade of grey, we were living underneath a bowl, a very wet bowl. Only the roof lines of the 4x4’s were visible above the spray. Dull slightly red lights peered through the murk that drains the colour out of everything else almost entirely. November in Britain had come to Texas in March, except it wasn’t cold.

We settled at 50mph in the middle lane because the inside lane was too risky with puddles. Every time we try to leave a gap between us and the next vehicle someone would go into it. Likewise, when we left a safety gap between each of us.

When we got up to Houston, the weather cleared and we actually had some sunshine. A really high flyover swept around to the left, when you got to the top you could see a 12 lane interstate below which disappeared straight to the horizon. It was very impressive, as have been many bridges and flyovers.

As we approached the flyover I moved my left foot to change gear and realised it was full of water. So much for my cunning plan.

We stopped only to gas up and got ahead of the weather as much as possible. There are lots of roadworks on interstate 10 but the locals had no intention of slowing. They just kept thrashing through and if we dropped speed, it would be more dangerous. So we just had to go with the flow.

Over the days signs at the side of the road had advised me;

I would get double fines for speeding in roadwork sections.

Don’t drive high.

Don’t drive drunk or I’ll get busted.

It’s not a race.

Don’t drive aggressive.

Jesus would save me.

I could rent a tire! Whatever that is.

And I hoped I wouldn’t need the services of one of the many attorneys who would win my case.

Apparently Ken wins more and I need to call Paul as opposed to Saul.

One female attorney would be happy to see me whereas ‘most don’t give a…’

Etc, etc.

but my favourite sign wasn’t the nicely named Plum Creek. It was

‘Woman Hollering Creek’.

Which is just south of San Antonio on the 10. Brilliant, I actually laughed out loud when I saw it.

Tomorrow should dry off and after that an unseasonably hot heatwave should arrive. Which is good because my boots were so awash with water I thought I might as well give them a wash in the shower. They couldn’t get any wetter.

I put them in the tumble dryer twice and they’re still not entirely dry. I had to shut the door to the laundry, they were making so much noise. They could use a 75mph blow dryer.

 

Heatwave.

Pedro and Laughing boy’s plan had worked well. We had got totally soaked but we were on the other side of it. We were tracking west, it was tracking east. We agreed, it could have been worse.

Hopefully from now on my boots will be fit for purpose and maybe even the vented jacket will get some usage.

Yesterday was so glum it wasn’t worth photographing. Even so there was the odd thing like the flyover that I wished I’d been able to take a picture of. Well, the view from the top of the flyover, not the flyover itself.

I’m getting fed up of seeing things and not being able to take pictures as we go along.

1. Because I’m not set up to do it.
2. Because we haven’t had stopping time.

Time to put that right, otherwise you see interesting things and they are just lost to distant memories.

The rides should get more interesting and we’re going to try and do shorter distances.

Well, that’s the plan, what could possibly go wrong?

 

Yo dude, maybee you’re riiiiiight.

 

I can tell you one thing though, I won’t be eating the amount of sugar that the locals do. Everything has sugar on it, or in it. Even the sugar has sugar on it. And you can see the results waddling through the double doors.

Jorg asked If there was any fruit for breakfast yesterday? The woman who was taking care of things there just look totally stunned. Fruit?

It’s actually quite sad for some people. At our Cawfee stop the very much laughing German was speculating and said;

“Have you thought about it? They can’t even reach round to wipe their arse!”

“No, no no no! No I hadn’t thought about it and I don’t want to”.

The horror!

 

The Shawshank Redemption.

I slept deeply until Pedro hammered on the door at 9 o’clock. I couldn’t believe it. I obviously needed the sleep. It was still raining and we’d planned to leave around 10.30 anyway, after the rain had stopped.

Breakfast finished at 9.00 so I went to ‘ihop’ next door instead. It was interesting. The staff were all men, older men. A combination of colours and creeds, one big, tall black balding guy. A South American looking guy with lots of tattoos and almost Mohican hair, but the bit in the middle was long and slicked down, not sticking up.

A white guy of about 70 with a grey beard. I think he was wearing denim dungarees but no young people serving, no females. There must have been 6 or 7 of them.

It was just different, I’d never ever seen that before.

I couldn’t help but wonder if these guys were rehabilitated ex cons? They could easily have been extras in The Shawshank Redemption, they ticked every box. Or was this the only job they could get at their stages of life?

It just felt like these guys had history but whatever that history they were all busy, bringing customers in, prepping tables, cleaning tables, taking orders, bringing food. They were polite, enthusiastic and Mr Mohican certainly kept my Cawfee topped up. A total contrast to the Alabama sloth from previous days.

For some reason I think it was the politeness that made me feel like they could be ex cons. Whatever their past they couldn’t have done a better job and if that is an ihop hiring policy I applaud them.

I’m sure my daughter will be telling me I shouldn’t write such things but I take my hat off to both the company and the staff, I really do.

I qualified all to easily for the Seniors Breakfast, which apparently starts at 55, so I went for that thinking it wouldn’t be too big. Wrong! Egg, bacon, sausage a hash brown that filled half the plate with a couple of blueberry muffins on another plate. I didn’t do it justice but it was good. It would get me through the day.

I made a point af telling my waiter that he’d done a great job and how much better the staff were doing than a lot of young people do. I also made a point of giving him a 25% tip, cash, which he appreciated.

In truth normally all the service is excellent in The States no matter who’s doing the service. Plenty of places in the UK could learn.

We saddled up and headed off into the rain. Unusually for the very accurate US weather forecasting they hadn’t got it quite right, it would clear around mid day. Stopping only to gas up at what must have been the most expensive gas station in Texas. It was a whole $3 a US gallon. Which equates to about 61 pence/ litre so we had to laugh. Elsewhere it was around $2.54 per US gallon, which is smaller than an imperial gallon.

The Shatnav which could have been made in Alabama it’s so slow, took us on a merry dance and after we’d done a mile or two it gave us the opportunity to top up at the very same gas station, before taking us back onto the 10.

Soon we peeled off into biker country with twisty roads and rolling hills. There were lots of motor-cicles so we knew we were in the right place. The sun came out and the temperature instantly shot from low 60’s to 77 degrees Fahrenheit, 25 Celsius. We started to sweat. In fact it was a lot like Spain except for the roadside signs saying ’Dont mess with Texas, don’t litter’. Which we loved. Not only that but we went past,
‘The Bikers Church’
underneath it said,
‘Thunder in the hills’.

We noted that most of bikers safety kit consisted of a bandanna or a bald head. Natural selection is obviously legal in Texas, let’s hope it doesn’t take them to the church early. I know I’d be long dead if it wasn’t for a crash helmet. You don’t headbutt a Ford Granada and get away with it wearing a bandanna.

Fredericksburg.


Moving on, as we cruised into Fredericksburg once again I was surprised. There was a Ford dealership which must have had 50 or more Ford150 Pickup Trucks outside in a line.

Now, I know that it is not only the best selling Pickup Truck but has been the best selling vehicle in the US for decades, although the Toyota RAV4 is now eclipsing it. They lurve them there Pickups but 50 of them in a row?

Scale. That’s the thing. The scale of everything. The amount of RV dealerships all over the south, with thousands of RV’s in each. The amount of car dealerships that line the entry to major towns and cities, each with thousands of new and used cars and 4x4’s. The width of the roads, the height of the bridges. The amount of money and of course credit, sloshing around this country.

It makes you realise we’re such a small Island. Such a sideshow.