0500 Hours. The sound of a 748 with a broken clutch greeted the slumbering silence of New Orleans.
Texas was calling me in my sleep.
Images of Big Bend National Park, the twisty three sisters, the city of Austin, I was tossing and turning with restlessness.
The desmo's thundering bass served as an alarm for my host who waved a final goodbye as I saddled my steed. A few steps out of the carport plopped me onto the street. One fond last look at the house that felt like home then I dropped a gear to disappear.
A crescendo of the arrow exhaust's soundtrack reminded the Ducati's rider that passion wasn't only reserved about the trip. There was an experience the 748 provided everytime that start button was depressed.
Alas, we were back on the road.
The original route was to slab to Texas across I-10. But the dull nature of highway travel was striking a nerve. If long, straight hauls were required there must be a scenic route of some sort. Regardless if it takes longer, it's about the journey - not always the destination.
The audible in blue - LA 82
Lousiana 82 was the new choice of tarmac to conquer. Riding through the marshes on a practically vacant two lane road was far more appealing than counting down the exit signs while cautiously dancing around cagers.
Morning ritual
The road leading to those lands consisted of highway hustling. Nothing special. Get the speedo cable to 80MPH (or above) and knock out those miles. Don't waste time.
111 miles later the Duc was thirsty for gas. For a, then, 19-year old supersport 40+MPG on the highway was not bad while fully loaded. With nearly 270 or so miles to go the early morning departures bought time for sight seeing and other unforseen circumstances to come...
Lousiana 82 came soon afterwards and became a sight for sore eyes. There's a serenity to being alone on the road in no man's land. An exhilaration to having complete faith in yourself and your machine to your destination. No support in proximity, no cell service.
First world problems, but still that element of the unknown lingering in every foot you cover.
Marshy
Out and about. Alone, with a doubt.
I'm a country boy at heart
Lousiana.
So to reach TX through this route, one must cross a ferry that leads towards Port Arthur, TX. It costs $1.00 and honestly was something I looked forward to. It was something different to throw into the mix. Often times there can be joy found in the simple things in life. And I'm a sucker for new experiences.
What I'm not fond of is encounters with law enforcement. And at some point on the road an officer found me going a bit too fast for his taste. But we'll go over that shortly...
Who dat.
Like many who made it into America, I left one land and arrived to another via a boat. Except I strolled in riding an Italian superbike.
My life is difficult.
Only a few minutes later did the bridge to Port Arthur appear. And only a few moments later did we ride over the bridge into the country of Texas.
I was ecstatic beyond belief. Up until this point a degree of doubt lingered inside of me. This bike was (and still is) very old. I still had the safety net of perhaps making it back to the train station in Florida. I kept telling myself it was reliable even though I had never tested it in this fashion.
The moment I pulled up to the sign welcoming everyone to Texas - I knew the bike would carry me to California.
Mentally, we'd made it halfway across the country in just a few days. Effortlessly and quickly. It was clear this bike had a will to prove everyone wrong, and a will to have fun on the roads to come.
Let's make history Sal. Cross country on a Ducati 748.
Raw emotion. We're in Texas.
Lonesome cowboy in the lone star state
What's that say boys and girls
At some point in my sprint on LA 82 I passed a police cruiser sitting off the road. Apparently, the passing sound of my bike didn't seem to alert him until the speedo gun read me going 90MPH
...in a 55MPH zone
A short glance in my bar end mirror elucidated red and blue lights about a quarter-mile away.
"Oh this must be for someone else." But a swivel search yielded in the realization that I was the only one around.
"...sheettt"
I pulled over and was ready to bend over for the punishment coming my way.
The first words out of the officer's mouth were "You should be going to jail for this..."
:) So you're saying there's a chance...
Polite words and a politician's verbose maneuver of admitting and not admitting guilt may have eased his frustration with me. But perhaps it was telling him California was my destination that persuaded the wide-eyed officer to let me off with a warning.
Still, he made sure to discretely follow me to the ferry and make it clear I'd be arrested on the other side of the ferry if I ran. I was one lucky cat with eight more lives in my pocket.
So, I was pulled over on LA 82...and here's the story
Spring, TX was my abode for that night. A gentleman named Charles and his wife from the ADVRider community were gracious enough to extend their hospitality towards me.
Charles was an avid off road rider with a good amount of track experience. He left the tarmac for the Mexican sands when he got his first taste of the dual sport life.
Charles was a marine veteran of the Vietnam war. His wife was a refugee of the war. I found it quite beautiful how fate would unite them in the most unanticipated of ways. His stories were quite hilarious, in particular convincing his teacher brother to hand a "golden spatula" to his poorly performing students. Very quickly did his brother learn not to take Charles's suggestions. Great moments heard over delicious tex-mex at a local joint.
Me being the age of their kids and them being the age of my parents fostered a moment of missing family back home. Both of them reminded me of my parents, except that I actually enjoyed talking to them.
That paternal affection from what was a username on the internet simple blew me away. "Touching" unjustly describes how large of a magnitude the gesture is.
________
5:00AM, again.
Both personalities gave me a hug and I rustled the Ducati's feathers, which was clearly annoyed with the early morning start.
Austin, TX. Ah, The capital of Texas. Shall we?
Breakfast.
The night before Charles advised me on roads out towards Austin, those in Big Bend and on the other side of the border. Definitely capitalized on that advice and made notes in appropriate fashion.
Egyptian Hieroglyphics. My friend Tamer can translate.
A nice, easy winding road popular to the Houston locals.
Meditation
A pull to keep things interesting
Oh you dirty girl
With the GPS returning an earlier than expected ETA, I didn't want to inconvenience my host while he was at work. So an impromptu stop at Buchner State Park was made accompanied by a quick reflection.
Alright, let's keep going.
The Ducati was getting away from me and despite trying to slow it down we were arriving sooner than expected. So what was another nice detour to make than to visit the Circuit of the Americas?
The Coliseum
A quick visit into the grand stand piqued my interest. And after taking a few snapshots to prove I was there, there was nothing eventful in motion to warrant a longer visit. So onwards we went.
Early afternoon. Austin. Maybe a bit too early.
My host Zac was still at work and I needed to kill time. So a venue to chill was in order. A platter at a halal restaurant provided that buffer as well as chances to make calls to friends and fam.
Today's ride was proving to be a laundry list item. Just something to accomplish, a chore. And realistically there will be days like this. This isn't to downplay how enjoyable this trip is. Rather an elucidation for viewers to take off the rose-tinted glasses and see the grey areas of the trip.
Inevitably our timetables aligned and I finally met with my host for two nights, Zac D.
Turns out Zac and I went to the same school - University of Maryland College Park. He also used to live in the DMV area (DC-MD-VA).
...and he completed a 10,000 mile 3+ month motorcycle trip around the US in recent time.
It seems that the stars aligned when I saw his profile on couchsurfer and I was simply too excited to mention those similarities and ignored his request to mention "BMW" in a PM. But nonetheless, there we were face to face.
The ice was broken and our conversation was warming up quickly like a gasoline stove top (we're both straight, so not like that). In the midst of our first five-minutes of dialogue, Zac suddenly throws out: "Do you want to fly a plane tonight?"
Uhhh...yeah. Yeah. YEAH! LET'S FLY A PLANE.
I was hoping he'd do the legwork since "muslims" and "planes" don't mesh that well...but this trip was quickly reaching a new altitude.
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