<Background Music: Nelson Riddle's theme song from the early 60's TV show "Route 66">

"The steering wheel of the 1961 Corvette felt firm and steady as I steered it along from town to town down the nation's mother road while meeting people and seeing new places. Odors from dew drenched morning glories and freshly cut hay filled the crisp morning air and combined with the rumble of the V-8 engine on the other side of the 'Vette's firewall to invigorate me as I sped on toward the next adventure."... So went my imagination Wednesday, July 24^th, 2002 at 5:45 AM as I departed on my two-week trip to Oregon and back on my Honda ST1100 motorcycle. The TV show, "Route 66" starring Martin Milner and George Maharis, sparked a yearning in my teenage brain back in the early 60's that has never left me... the urge to wander and see what is over the next hill or around the next curve. I was about to live out a two-wheeled version of that desire.

After kissing my wife goodbye I departed the neighborhood and made my way to Highway 59 in Houston for the short trip to the Denny's restaurant in Rosenburg, Texas just thirty miles southwest of Houston. There I met my riding partner for the trip, Ken Buffington, a friend who had accompanied me on past motorcycle trips. I arrived about 15 minutes ahead of our meeting time of 6:30 and figured I would be there well ahead of him. Not so as he was already there waiting on me! We ate breakfast and discussed our route for the day. The goal would be to make it to at least Childress and possibly Dalhart, Texas before nightfall. Our first day as well as the next would be devoted mostly to mile munching.

Once our bellies were full, we gassed up our bikes, did a radio check on our CB's, and turned north on Highway 36 to begin our long journey. The morning rush hour, even thirty miles from Houston, was bad enough to slow us down until we got well into the countryside. We zipped along the mostly four-lane highway passing through small town after small town; enduring stop lights and slow moving farm equipment.

One of the things I find fascinating about traveling around rural Texas is driving through towns that reflect the diversity of people that founded the state. I suspect "outsiders" probably think of Anglo-Europeans and Mexicans as being the "founders" of the state. They are indeed well represented, but many more cultures, particularly from other parts of Europe came to Texas in search of cheap land in the 1800's. Particularly notable were the Germans, Italians, and Czechoslovakians. Quite often the areas they settled have town names that reflect the origin of their founders. One such town that we passed through on our way to WeSTOC was Milano which is in the Brazos River Valley near Bryan. This area of Texas saw a lot of Italian immigration in the late 1800's.

Once past the town of Temple the traffic thinned out considerably and the trip began to get much more relaxing and interesting. To illustrate just how interesting, somewhere near the town of Commanche we passed right by a ranch with the name of "Deep Shit Cattle Company". A name of this sort might not be reason for pause in California but in such a conservative part of Texas, this was a sight to see. I'd love to know the history of this ranch. Is it some "outsider's" retirement place or does it belong to one of the area's "characters"? There's bound to be quite a story behind this ranch's name. (See note at bottom of page for more on this).

Yet another thing I find enjoyable while traveling is people watching. The trip up Highway 36 through Texas farm & ranch country afforded me several opportunities to engage in this pastime. For instance, we stopped in the very, very small town of Cross Plains (?), a rural community near Amarillo to eat lunch. The people in the restaurant typified just how very family oriented small town Texas is. Practically every table was filled with mothers, some fathers, and kids of all ages having fun and asking incessant questions of their parents. Each time someone came in the door of the restaurant they would go from table to table to say hello to their neighbors. Definitely not a scene you'd see in my current home of Houston where bumping into anyone you know is a rarity.

After our "big city" dining experience, we continued for a short while on Highway 36 then got off of it to take a series of small roads that looped around Abilene. Eventually we got on Highway 6 and arrived at the town of Stamford. There we decided to stop at a convenience store to have a coke** (see note below) and perk up a bit after our heavy meal. We sat down at a booth in the cool, air-conditioned store near a very friendly old man with one leg. He immediately began to ask us questions about our motorcycles then related that he had owned several Honda Goldwings in the 80's. As we talked with the old man, an elderly lady about his age walked up and greeted him in a joking manner. Though quite old you could tell that she had been very attractive as a younger woman. They obviously not only knew each other but seemed to have known each other for a very long time as they discussed mutual friends, surgeries, who had recently died, etc. I was struck by the obvious closeness of these two friends and imagined that they had known each other since they were kids. They may have even been more than friends at one time. It got me to wondering how it must be to live in one place all your life and watch your friends grow old with you. Since I left my hometown at 17, that is something I'll never know about.

August in Texas can be brutal. The summer of 2002 however was a relatively mild one as Texas summers go. It was probably only in the mid 90's when we walked out of the little store in Stamford but when we sat on the seats of our ST's that had been sitting out in the 95 degree sun for 20 minutes, it felt like it was well over 100. So, baking butts and all, we continued down Highway 6 then 380 until we arrived at the town of Aspermont. There we hooked a right on Highway 83 for the run into Childress.

Even though there was still plenty of daylight remaining by the time we hit Childress, we decided to call a halt to our first day of travel so we could be well rested for the next day's much longer ride to Laramie, Wyoming. Because of being excited about the trip, I had not slept well the night before and Ken reported the same so we checked into the cheapest motel we could find in the AAA Tour book that I brought along. In this case it turned out to be the Best Western .

On arrival at the motel we dragged ourselves into the office of the Best Western looking like hell warmed over. We were hot, sweaty, tired and had on all our bug splattered motorcycle attire. The attendant looked at us as if we were from Mars. We joked about needing a serious shower. After we checked in, unloaded our bikes, and took a shower, we went back to the motel office to get info on a place to eat. The motel clerk, a woman, looked at us as and exclaimed, "Y'all clean up real well!" as if she was totally surprised to see a couple of real human beings beneath the grimy jackets that she had previously seen us in.

Using the motel clerks directions we found ourselves at the salad bar of the local K-Bob's Restaurant. After pigging out we went directly back to our rooms. I hit the sack early and was asleep before my head hit the pillow. I would need all the rest I could get because the next day would bring a very long, boring, mostly interstate ride to Wyoming. It would also be a day of hair raising "adventure" while riding through Denver during afternoon rush hour.

** Cultural Note: The word "coke" is used by native Texans as a generic term for any carbonated soft drink. Example: "Whut kinda coke you wont Bubba; a Dr. Pepper, 7-Up or Coke? Why hail, I reckon I'll have a Dr. Pepper coke". :-)

** Note on Deep Shit Cattle Company.

This ride report was written in November of 2002. In September of 2004 I received the following email:

"To answer your question, the owner of the Ranch has lived there for many years, and he did catch a lot of flack for putting up the sign. The church goer's thought it was terrible to put such profanity in public display. He is definitely a character !

Grass burrs are prevalent in that part or the country and if you ever get by there again take a close look at the bull on the sign, he has a burr where it would probably render him unusable."

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