Post by oldroadietehachapi on Nov 15, 2023 2:03:21 GMT
Okay folks, it is a bit quiet out there; perhaps you will enjoy a little story of mine.
Not long ago there was this old man. In his younger years he often made cross country trips on his fully laden tour bike. While wistfully remembering these long-ago trips, he realized that he had never ridden the United States from coast to coast. He obsessed on this as it was an unfulfilled dream from long ago. He decided he must make his dream trip while he was still able. He refurbished his old tour bike, packed it up and was determined to fulfill his dream.
He rode for many days with a mix of camping, lodging and fast food. Riding from east to west, he eventually found himself in the California desert. On a 70-mile leg from Barstow to Mojave the only route was on a major highway (58), much of which was freeway (limited access); fortunately, California law allows bikes on a freeway when no other route is available. This was easily verified as the freeway onramp signs had the portion banning bicycles blanked out. The desert is not to be underestimated; he soon encountered severe, hot, dry, head winds bringing his progress to a crawl. Exhausted, he stopped at a road side rest stop near Boron California. He had some 30 miles to go and knew he would never make his Mojave motel reservation. He resigned himself to another night of camping when he noticed the sign stating that camping was not allowed; what to do he thought. As he sat on a bench, looking miserable while devouring his last Powerbar, a shiny new Corvette pulled up. The driver was a cyclist and took pity on our poor hero. After hearing our rider’s plight, the Corvette driver offered to take him to Mojave. This was a most welcome offer but a fully loaded touring bike simply would not fit in a Corvette. The rider thanked the driver but said he simply could not abandon his cherished bike. The driver thought of a very unorthodox solution. He explained that he was returning from the Colorado River where he had been water skiing and just so happened to have a ski (tow) rope in the car. The driver offered to tow him to Mojave! The rider answered “are you nuts!” and sat down. The explained that he had it worked out. He would shorten the rope, tie it to his car and pull him along. If something went wrong he simply could let go. The rider remained skeptical and asked how fast they would go. The driver thought on it an realized he had a whistle on his ski vest. The driver said you can signal me, one toot to speed up and two or more to slow down; again, if all goes wrong just let go. By now the sun was low and the cyclist was tired and hungry. He decided to take the chance.
As they drove along all went well. The pair were able to travel at a reasonable pace. The riders main worry was the trucks and cars that screamed past. He tooted his whistle and a bit more speed seemed just fine; he repeated this a few times until things became scary; nevertheless, the old touring bike was stable and his confidence grew. Soon his hands became tired so he found he could hook the ski rope handles to his brake levers. This worked well and things were looking up. Things went so well that the driver was barely aware of his unusual passenger.
With maybe ten miles to go, with darkness falling, something unexpected happened. A young fellow in a Mustang pulled next to the Corvette and revved his engine. How ridiculous thought the Corvette driver that this kid in a Mustang was challenging his mighty Corvette. The Corvette driver tried to ignore the Mustang but then its driver decided to flip him off. This ignited the old Ford versus Chevy feud and the Corvette driver saw red. When the Mustang nailed the throttle, the driver of the Corvette did likewise; the pair roared off into the night.
The Highway Patrol officer was having a normal evening. He clocked cars with his LiDAR and then informed additional officers (who were a few miles down the road) of any offenders that were coming their way. It wasn’t long until the entourage roared past; the officer was dumfounded and could barely make his report. He called his fellow officers and reported that a Corvette and Mustang were coming their way at 140 MPH. He then paused and said the odd thing is, right behind them both is an old man on a bicycle; his eyes are as big as oranges and he is blowing a whistle, wanting to pass.
He rode for many days with a mix of camping, lodging and fast food. Riding from east to west, he eventually found himself in the California desert. On a 70-mile leg from Barstow to Mojave the only route was on a major highway (58), much of which was freeway (limited access); fortunately, California law allows bikes on a freeway when no other route is available. This was easily verified as the freeway onramp signs had the portion banning bicycles blanked out. The desert is not to be underestimated; he soon encountered severe, hot, dry, head winds bringing his progress to a crawl. Exhausted, he stopped at a road side rest stop near Boron California. He had some 30 miles to go and knew he would never make his Mojave motel reservation. He resigned himself to another night of camping when he noticed the sign stating that camping was not allowed; what to do he thought. As he sat on a bench, looking miserable while devouring his last Powerbar, a shiny new Corvette pulled up. The driver was a cyclist and took pity on our poor hero. After hearing our rider’s plight, the Corvette driver offered to take him to Mojave. This was a most welcome offer but a fully loaded touring bike simply would not fit in a Corvette. The rider thanked the driver but said he simply could not abandon his cherished bike. The driver thought of a very unorthodox solution. He explained that he was returning from the Colorado River where he had been water skiing and just so happened to have a ski (tow) rope in the car. The driver offered to tow him to Mojave! The rider answered “are you nuts!” and sat down. The explained that he had it worked out. He would shorten the rope, tie it to his car and pull him along. If something went wrong he simply could let go. The rider remained skeptical and asked how fast they would go. The driver thought on it an realized he had a whistle on his ski vest. The driver said you can signal me, one toot to speed up and two or more to slow down; again, if all goes wrong just let go. By now the sun was low and the cyclist was tired and hungry. He decided to take the chance.
As they drove along all went well. The pair were able to travel at a reasonable pace. The riders main worry was the trucks and cars that screamed past. He tooted his whistle and a bit more speed seemed just fine; he repeated this a few times until things became scary; nevertheless, the old touring bike was stable and his confidence grew. Soon his hands became tired so he found he could hook the ski rope handles to his brake levers. This worked well and things were looking up. Things went so well that the driver was barely aware of his unusual passenger.
With maybe ten miles to go, with darkness falling, something unexpected happened. A young fellow in a Mustang pulled next to the Corvette and revved his engine. How ridiculous thought the Corvette driver that this kid in a Mustang was challenging his mighty Corvette. The Corvette driver tried to ignore the Mustang but then its driver decided to flip him off. This ignited the old Ford versus Chevy feud and the Corvette driver saw red. When the Mustang nailed the throttle, the driver of the Corvette did likewise; the pair roared off into the night.
The Highway Patrol officer was having a normal evening. He clocked cars with his LiDAR and then informed additional officers (who were a few miles down the road) of any offenders that were coming their way. It wasn’t long until the entourage roared past; the officer was dumfounded and could barely make his report. He called his fellow officers and reported that a Corvette and Mustang were coming their way at 140 MPH. He then paused and said the odd thing is, right behind them both is an old man on a bicycle; his eyes are as big as oranges and he is blowing a whistle, wanting to pass.