Frenchy's Rant

Never fails.

If it’s just Dark Meat and I at a restaurant, we’ll get Brunehilda the Wart-Covered Visigoth for a waitress, but if Fiona is there, our waitress is usually so insanely gorgeous that I’m forced to eat the entire meal with my eyes closed. I’ve learned it’s that, or suffer the Wrath of Sleeping Beauty, a fate much worse than a meal served by Brunehilda.

Our waitress that night was an authentic Southern Belle, a blonde bombshell from Mississippi, or at least that’s what I imagined her to be. My eyes were welded shut, of course. Asking how she ended up in Jackson Hole, Miss Mississippi drawled that each summer she escaped her small home town for a new, more exciting place. One year it was Aspen, which, she claimed, was full of ‘rich butt-heads’, then, Glacier National Park, her self-proclaimed ‘Happy Place’, and this summer’s escape was Jackson Hole. She told us she hadn’t been there long enough to form an opinion.

One word of caution, when your waitress is so hot butter melts in her hands, it’s not easy to eat with your eyes closed. Somehow I managed. Without visual stimulus, all I had was the words ‘Glacier National Park’ and ‘Happy Place’, words that kept resonating through my tiny brain.

The next day, after we dropped Fiona off at the airport in Idaho Falls, there really was no more plan. No Map-kin. Nothing. Abi and I had an entire week to get back to California, and, for a change, had nothing much in mind.

Glacier. Happy. Hmm…

I got through dinner without forking myself, and later that night looked at the map. Glacier National Park is located in the very top of Montana, about five hundred miles straight up from Idaho Falls. A thousand mile detour?

Why not?

It was a fun ride through the mountains to take Fiona to Idaho Falls Regional Airport, but a melancholy one as well. Sleeping Beauty once again had to go home for more of that dreaded four letter ‘W’ word, and, sadly woudn’t be rejoining the trip.

Abi and I managed to finagle a week off from the WWE tour, giving us six more days of riding freedom. And, thanks to the words of Miss Mississippi, we were headed to a Happy Place.

Happy, but wet. Of course.

After the customary deluge, the interesting little town of Deer Lodge, MT became our home for the night.

Here is one of Abi’s hard won Nuggets of Knowledge: Any town with a sign like this painted on the wall should generally be avoided:

In Deer Lodge, at the creatively named Montana Bar, I had an experience that drove home how far away from reality we’d landed. In the usual, time honored tradition of Best Day Ever toasts, I ordered Dark Meat and I a couple of beers, then, shortly after, went up for two more. Sitting back down, a large woman almost immediately came up to the table and said, “Look, I know you guys ain’t from around here, but next time you get beers, take your empty glasses back up for refills, OK? That way we don’t have to wash so many glasses.”

My question about free refills was met with a blank stare.

After a bunch more refills, and beating the locals at pool, it was obviously time to go. We snuck out of Deer Lodge early the next morning.

As usual, my gravel shortcut was enjoyed by exactly half the group, with the usual dissent coming from the usual place.

Ahh… some days this ride partnership is… too much like a marriage, and some days… well, some days… I think I want a divorce.

As always during a domestic spat, taking a deep breath and stopping for ‘Dinks and Ice Cream Now’ makes everything better.

The road to Glacier National Park was fun, the weather was good, and by 2PM, our little dirt road disagreement was behind us, and the gates to the Happy Place were in front of us.

The world famous Going to the Sun Highway, the pathway to the best parts of the Happy Place and the main reason to traipse all the way to Glacier National Park was closed for construction, naturally.

Frustrating? Oh no, not at all.

At least I came all that way for a Passport Stamp, and a few pictures of a waterfall.

Happy place? With the Going To Nowhere Highway closed, Glacier was more like a Crappy Place to me. Disappointed, we turned around and hustled two hundred miles down to Missoula. Missoula, that night’s haven, may only be eighty miles away from Deer Lodge, but in reality, is worlds apart. Best part? Clean glasses with every beer!

Missoula was also the beginning point of the end of our ride, with only two more state lines and a few thousand miles remaining between Dark Meat, Frenchy and the inevitable end of the road.

Click Here For The Penultimate Post!

Yellowstone.

We Came. We Saw. We Photographed.

Need I say it?

Best Day Ever!

Who would suspect that very evening, an innocent Southern belle would be able, with a smile and a few words, to inflict a detour of epic proportions on the rest of the ride?

Not me.

The Next-To-Last Post Here!

Work.

It’s a four letter word, all right, but it’s also a necessary evil. Unfortunately, we all have to do it, or, at least most of us do. I do know that I am very lucky, in that that my work as an audio engineer with World Wrestling Entertainment not only funds my madness, but the schedule that I, Abi and Fiona all have makes these rides possible, which makes the concept of that four letter ‘W’ word all the more bearable.

So, Stapling Beauty flew home for three nights of saving lives at the hospital. Dark Meat Snack and I flew to Los Angeles for whatever festivities Vince McMahon and crew had planned. In a nice twist of events, Mike also flew in to Los Angeles to work with Abi, me and the rest of the WWE’s ‘Team Audio’. I won’t get too in depth, but Monday night’s show – the show that was moved from Denver to the Staples Center with little notice – featured a Denver Nuggets team owner look-a-like being knocked around by Vince McMahon, a Jack Nicholson impersonator in the front row of the audience, and the main event was a six-on-six match, with the ‘good guys’ dressed as the Lakers, and the ‘bad guys’ dressed as the Denver Nuggets, all announced by the Laker’s home PA announcer. Guess who won that match.

All in all, a typical day at the office.

One thing that struck me as funny was how often in LA people asked Abi and I, “What’d you do with the motorcycles?” I must’ve been asked this question fifteen times on Monday! I guess it’s hard for most to fathom that motorcycles are actually vehicles, and there is always vehicle parking at airports.

Wednesday finally arrived, and everyone flew back to Denver for Tripus Resumus. Once Dark Meat, Staplefingers and I were reunited, my plan was to aim our well-rested motorcycles squarely at Jackson Hole, WY. I thought if we could take a decent chunk out of the five-hundred-fifty mile distance Wednesday evening, we’d be able to enjoy the remaining miles in a leisurely ramble to Jackson Hole the following day.

Mike, who wouldn’t be coming along, had other, more interesting plans. He called me several times that day, using my own logic, similar to the Jedi Mind Trick, on me. “You should just stay at my house tonight. That way we can get in a nice sunset four-wheeling cruise in the mountains. When is the next time you’ll have a opportunity to do that? You’re already here, and you won’t get very far tonight anyway. Why stay in a crappy motel? This is a great opportunity!”

It’s the same logic I use to talk Dark Meat and others into doing things they are otherwise hesitant to do. Yeah, I hate it when others use the Mind Trick on me, but I have to admit, it usually works.

Then, Mike delivered the final knock out blow to my plan, “I’ve got cold beer on ice! What do you say?”

Best. Day. Ever.

The next morning, we said our goodbyes (again) to Mike, Ingrid and Lucas, and headed north in questionable weather toward Jackson Hole, Wyoming.

Thursday ended up being a longer than anticipated but pleasant haul through the interesting scenery and gently winding roads of Wyoming. We stayed off the dreaded interstate as much as possible, and stayed mostly dry.

Fifteen minutes outside of Jackson Hole, we had an amazing treat, as we were held up in an authentic Wyoming traffic jam – a lumbering herd of bison ambling across the road.

Our Jackson Hole home was the crap-tastic Anvil Motel in the center of town, a town that also became our watering hole for the next two days. Jackson Hole turned out to be a perfect base to launch an all out photographic assault on Grand Teton National Park and, of course, the whole reason we came so far, absorbing the visual pleasures of the most beautiful place on Earth – Yellowstone.

Pics of Yellowstone – Here!

On a long, multi-day motorcycle tour, one of my favorite times of day is early morning, after my mental haze has lifted and I figure out where I am, but before the toll for the previous night’s excess is collected. This is the moment where I draw back the motel room curtain, make sure Rain Cloud Follows hasn’t disappeared during the night, and I find out what mood Mother Nature is in.

Her mood this morning?

Angry.

Thick, gray clouds filled the sky. The temperature was slightly less that warm, but at least it was damp out. Not yet raining, but just damp. Rain was sure to come just about the time we pulled out of the lot. I know how Ma Nature operates. Looked like it was going to be a long day, and with Rocky Mountain National Park on the agenda, probably a day filled with good-natured self induced suffering.

So, we played a trick on Mother Nature, and it seemed to work. Instead of hauling ass directly to the park, we made a quick detour to check out Fish Creek Falls.

These stall tactics seemed to throw Mama N off, because the sun actually came out. Believing out little trick worked, we stopped in Steamboat Springs for lunch.

I knew we were in trouble when the radio started playing ‘Raindrops Keep Falling On My Head’. A quick glance out the window confirmed it. Mother Nature was on to us, and wasn’t pleased. Those dark clouds were now boiling, and a downpour was eminent. We ran to the bikes, and suited up just in time to endure the brunt of her wrath. It’s not nice to fool with Mother Nature, after all!

With Mike in the lead, we spent the day dodging rain clouds, often surrounded by deluges on all sides, but somehow, most times, not actually in them.

Trail Ridge Road in Rocky Mountain National Park, the exciting path that leads to a ridiculous altitude of 12,183 feet was open, but reports were of ten foot visibility for the top eight miles. With a vote of three to one, the majority ruled, and we decided to go for it.

The beginning was wet, but fun. Elk, deer and other delicious tasting critters dotted the fields. Abi, the one and only ‘Nay’ vote for this excursion was unimpressed. Maybe it’s just the vegetarian in him, who knows?

The road ascended,the fog descended, and the temperature plummeted.

Pretty soon, it was just as described. Riding in a thick blanket of opaque fog.

At the summit, well over the altitude where it is safe to turn on your computer on an airplane, we stopped at the visitor center, which, naturally, was closed. Unlike 95% of National Park Visitor Centers that close at 5 PM, these chuckleheads close early, at 4:30.

Mike walked over to find out the center was closed, and almost immediately disappeared in the fog. After a few minutes, he reappeared. winded, and said, “You do realize… that we are above… the altitude that… supplemental oxygen… is required… for aircraft, right?”

Great unsuccess getting the highest National Parks Passport Stamp this time, which only means we’ll have to go back and try again another day. I’m also pretty sure there was a sign up there with the altitude on it, and I would’ve loved to stop and get a picture, but two things prevented that. One: Stopping would amount to suicide in the fog, and Two: A picture of fog proves nothing. So, stamp-less and picture-less, we started the harrowing decent.

On the ride down, we saw a gut wrenching sight. Three park rangers, sirens flashing in the fog, next to two parked motorcycles, no riders or rangers in sight. Granted the fog was still thick, but my tingling spider sense told me something bad had happened.

We wouldn’t find out the story until a week later. Turned out that, purely by chance, one of the parked motorcycles belonged to the guy that rented Mike the VStrom. The guy noticed Mike’s rented VStrom ride by, and mentioned it when he returned the bike. The story was there were three bikes in their little group, and one got separated. Not sure if he panicked or just made a really bad decision, but the guy, on fog shrouded roads with next to zero visibility, made a U-turn to try and find his buddies. With visibility so close to zero, the truck in the opposite lane never even saw the motorcycle and crunched into him. The rider was OK, but the bike and the truck were pretty well smashed up. When the park rangers showed up, it turned out that the driver of the truck had a warrant, and was arrested. The passenger didn’t have ID, and was held at gunpoint in the freezing snow and fog for two hours before being released. All things considered, a crashed bike with an alive rider, and a felon apprehended, things could have turned out worse up there.

Anyway, back to happier stories. Below 8000 feet, the fog lifted, and the rest of the ride was mostly uneventful, except for the huge herd of elk we saw on the way out of the park.

Sadly, we parted ways in Boulder, and the next day we endured the beginning of our three days of worked mandated Tripus Interruptus.

And, judging by the hail and lightning she provided Dark Meat Snack and I on the way to Denver International Airport on Sunday, Mother Nature was definitely less-than-pleased with the previous day’s little stunt.

Next up: Tripus Resumus, a little ride of the four wheel kind, then, onward to Yellowstone!

Part V – Here!

The scene of the crime? An innocent place called Drifter’s Cookhouse, a great looking place surrounded by the most amazing umm… Flock? Gaggle? Swarm? Or… is it, as Wikipedia claims, a… charm? A ‘charm’ of hummingbirds? Whatever it is actually called, it was the most amazing bunch of hummingbirds I’ve ever seen.

The Cookhouse was rustic, decorated all around with autographed dollar bills stapled to the walls. It’s one of those places you walk into and know immediately is going to be good. I was served a mean Cookhouse buffalo burger by the owner and his young son.

We arrived at Drifters on opening day for the season. The owner was proud of his place, and after a long winter, seemed to really enjoy talking to us.

After a lunch, which included fresh chocolate chip cookies and home made raspberry ice cream, my darling Sleeping Beauty decided we should add a dollar to the wall.

Sometimes even the best, most well intentioned of ideas turn out so bad.

After signing the bill, the owner handed Sleeping Beauty a loaded staplegun, saying, “Put it up wherever you want.”

Somehow, instead of stapling our special bill to the wall, disaster struck as Fiona managed to shoot a staple deep into her fingers!

Hastily, I finished the job for her.

She played it cool until we got outside, then she lost it!

“Oh my God! That HURT! I tried to be cool about it in there, but I started sweating right away and everything! Great job, guys!” She turned her anger on us, “Real smart! Give Fiona the staplegun! OUCH!”

Fortunately she’s a trained medical professional. Using her extensive medical knowledge, she managed to staunch the considerable flow of blood from the tiny staple holes in her fingers.

After this debacle and repair job, we were back on our way. A few miles later, she calmed down and things were back to normal.

Bloodied but unbeaten, Team TT twisted through more great roads, climbing ever higher towards the 10,276 foot summit of Cameron Pass.

We made short work of the rest of the curves between us and Steamboat Springs, checked into the Rabbit Ears motel, and the usual post ride routine unwound. Toasted the Best Day Ever, smoked fine cigars, then sniffed out a fantastic brewpub by a raging river. The rest of the night is devoid of evidence except for this single photo.

I think this picture says it all. I’m not sure though, because around two AM, the night got a bit err… fuzzy. Fuzzy or not, it was the Best Night Ever, of that I am sure.

And better days, and nights were still ahead.

Part IV – HERE!