So, my adventure managed to end on a really, really bizarre note. We left Austin at 1 pm on Saturday, amid rain, March Madness traffic, and flash floods. Neither my husband nor I had felt all that well that morning, and after standing in a mud bowl during the party, getting sneezed and coughed on, our immune systems just weren’t up to the task. 11 hours later, we had barely made it to the outskirts of Dallas. In an effort to try to save our marriage, he broke down and got us a motel room. It worked. By morning, all was forgiven….until we got on the bike again, in yet another downpour. Grossest feeling ever is having to wear drenched clothes that keep drying out and rewetting over and over again.
Finally, we started hitting some sunshine right outside of OKC. With the sunshine came happier thoughts, and we managed to ignore the several..and I repeat, several things that had gone wrong.
Second, in a bit of a temper, Don punched his saddlebag because he couldn’t get it closed. It punched right back, with it’s buckle, and punctured his hand. Don 0, Saddlebag 1.
Third, every person at every gas station we stopped at asked us if we were riding in this weather..Don, who had thought this was funny the first 100 times, soon became agitated with people’s quick-witted, albeit good-natured jests. So much for being an unapproachable badass motorcycle guy. The other 4 million times people made jokes, it earned them a dire, rain-soaked look of pure danger.Or they would have been afraid if he hadn’t looked like a bit of a drowned rat. Frankly, we looked pathetic.
Fourth: Almost every single place we stopped, only had a Denny’s open. Denny’s. Don’s least favorite restaurant on the planet earth.
And my favorite, the fifth incident. Driving down a finally sunny highway, going about 85 mph, with motorists and semis all around, Don’s BLACK bandana, which he had tied around his head to keep his hair from tickling his face, fell down around his eyes, successfully and completely blinding him. He couldn’t get the broken face guard on his helmet to go up, and he couldn’t reach his hand into his helmet. We were literally swerving all over the wet road while Don was trying to figure out what in the world he was going to do. Cars and trucks were swerving trying to miss us. When he felt the grass of the median under his wheel, he came to a stop, pulled the helmet off and pulled the bandana off. When he stopped hyperventilating, we drove another mile to a gas station, where he celebrated his second chance at life with a bag of pork rinds and a red bull. He told that story to every customer that came in there, some of whom had witnessed our little incident and were laughing at us. Not with us, mind you, at us. Happy news is that I have now been driven on a motorcycle amid heavy traffic by a blind guy, and I didn’t die. I didn’t even scream. In fact, I now know this about myself: I react to severe terror by doing absolutely nothing at all. I didn’t scream, flail my arms, or try to jump off the bike. I didn’t even start praying or hold on to Don harder. I literally rode the whole thing out and thought one word. It starts with an F and I’m not proud of it, but hey, it wasn’t planned….Let’s see what you think when you have no control over the motorcycle you’re riding on the back of starts weaving back and forth in the path of semis on a wet road. I’ll bet it won’t be “Darn it”.
All that being said, it is good to be home. I loved seeing my Dad, had fun with my friends, and my kiddos took good care of the homestead. So, I’m going to rate this trip an 8, taking a couple points off of the overall score because I ALMOST DIED on the way home. Thank you, God, for keeping us safe on this really horrible motorcycle ride….You rule!