Most times I ignore the voices of reason in my head, the ones that say silly stuff like, “Hey, dummy! Maybe taking a touring bike up a mountain on a dirt road is a bad idea, especially when not one soul knows you are doing it,” but when the hair on the back of my neck stands up, that I do not ignore. The appearance of this huge and ominous truck got my complete attention. Though he was a fair distance away, I could see the dread-locked driver shouting and menacingly waving his arms.

So, I did what any brave soul would, I turned tail and, as fast as my nearly bald road tires and overweight touring bike would allow, I took off, with the battered pickup gaining on me. He seemingly gave chase, and while I wasn’t sure if I was interpreting things correctly, I didn’t exactly want to stop and find out that I was; discretion being the better part of valor, and me feeling pretty much like a big pussy at that moment.

With fear and hope swelling in equal proportions, I ran away. When the path forked, I formed a desperate plan to give the demon pickup truck the slip.

I faked left then went right. At this point, while I didn’t exactly leave the giant stranded by the riverside, I did manage to evade him. I have no idea what he might have wanted, and I am OK with that. Through the rest of the dirt I cautiously raced, and three hours after starting, I found myself safe and sound at the other end of the path.

Welcome To The Enchanted Land

Thanks to my extended off-road adventure, the excellence of Route 152 would have to wait for another day.

The road I’d found was nearly as good, though still infested with locusts performing bizarre insect love acts. Low on fuel and tired from the chase, I putted through the landscape until I found my oasis, an old Shell gas station. As I pulled up to the pump, another sun-dried old cougar approached, asking me to take her picture. This was starting to become an odd theme for this ride.

“You want me to take your picture here?” I asked. “At the gas station? In front of a pump?”

“Yesssssss!” she hissed.

I obliged, shot a stunning three-quarter length portrait of her and a diesel nozzle, then got an earful of what was now becoming the usual –  how her friend had a Honda blah-blah-blah and she once blah-blah-blahed… Odd, indeed.

I smiled, nodded, waved, and got the hell out of there.

The day’s detour forced me to crank it up a notch, and soon I was in the state where notch-cranking is encouraged and even expected, because in Texas, driving at 80 MPH is considered dawdling.

Drive Friendly – But Fast!

Following smog-belching trucks down I-10, I noticed some peculiar cloud forming ahead.

I’ve seen these peculiar formations before, they usually mean that the clouds that always seem to follow me have caught up, are rallying the troops, and soon there will be rain, high winds, lightning and hail. As I approached the clouds, they eerily light up as dazzling lightning bolts dance around inside. I enjoyed this impromptu light show until it is dark, and the very first fat drops of rain started to fall. Home for the evening is the semi-famous El Capitan Hotel in Van Horn, a grand old hotel built way back in the 1930’s when people built good looking hotels.

Damp, tired from the day, and in desperate need of some Scottish 12 year old Single Malt therapy, I trudged to the front desk. The desk clerk, noticing my Rhode Island drivers license asked what I am doing so far from home.

“Well, it’s a long story,” I begin, “but the short version is I am riding from Los Angeles to Houston to watch Rush play.”

“Rush? Is that the band from the movie  I Love You, Man?” She added incredulously, “Wait a minute, is Rush a real band?”

“Ummm, yes,” I answered, “they are a real band.”

She continued, “So, are you gonna air guitar thought the show?”

“Nope. I’ll be air drumming, thank you very much.”

The bar was still open, so I order a double Dalhwinnie Single Malt neat and happily hoisted a toast to the Best Day Ever. I was completely unconscious about fifteen minutes later.

The next morning I woke up up early. I had a birthday celebration to attend in San Antonio, and I wasn’t exactly as close to the home of the Alamo I as I would have liked to be. I knew the day’s ride would be mostly high speed, highway induced hypnotism. I loaded my ‘Angry White Man Music’ playlist on my iPod, gritted my teeth and accelerated to warp five on a road that looked more like a runway than a highway.

In the interest of efficient travel, and knowing the Texas Rangers would probably frown on me setting up Rain Cloud Follows in the middle of I-10, I decided to forgo my Ghost Rider tribute, taking instead this awkward portrait at a fuel stop:

Hours of mind-numbing highway later, I arrived in San Antonio, and the rest of the day was spent helping my beautiful girlfriend Sleeping Beauty and family celebrate her sister’s induction into the BIG THREE-OH Club. Welcome to the Top of the Hill, Denise! It’s all downhill from here!

I had trouble sleeping that night. My restlessness didn’t stem from my birthday cake excess indulgence, it’s just that… I felt like a kid on Christmas Eve! Though I have seen Rush about twenty times over the years, I still get excited before each show. Needless to say I was up early once again. Bidding Sleeping Beauty and family a fond farewell, I cranked up the only fitting playlist for such an important day – All The World’s A Stage (naturally) and the road between San Antonio and Houston flew past as I enjoyed listening to the old concert recording every bit as much as I did thirty years yeas ago.

Pat and family put on a Texas style feast as a pre-concert meal; gigantic, thick steaks with all the trimmings. Excited and full, two of Rush’s biggest fans piled into Pat’s truck and headed out for some much anticipated concert excellence!

Rain or shine? Of course, about thirty minutes before the show started, the skies opened up and a short deluge soaked everything. Thankfully, Pat and I were safe and dry in a nearby Irish Pub. Again, as if on cue, the rain stopped and the sky cleared just before the show started.

The View From The Cheap Seats

The house lights dimmed, the opening movie rolled, and the sold out crowd erupted in a wild cheer as the the familiar guitar riff intro to ‘Spirit of Radio’ boomed throughout the amphitheater.

Image Courtesy John Arrowsmith – All Rights Reserved

Image Courtesy John Arrowsmith – All Rights Reserved

(Before I continue my fanboy gushing about the show, I have to say a huge thank you to Rush tour photographer John Arrowsmith for giving me permission to use these pictures from the Houston show. More of John’s fantastic concert photography can be enjoyed at this site.)

All those years I spent learning the drum lines to Rush songs paid off as I put on an amazing display of air drumming excellence way up in the cheap seats. Not surprisingly, Pat distanced himself from me during what surely looked like a seizure to the untrained eye. During ‘Freewill,’ I air drummed so hard I accidentally punched a kid in the face. I apologized profusely, but the kid understood. ‘Freewill’ is that good of a song.

The only time during the whole concert there was a line for the men’s room was after the drum solo. But then again, at $13 a beer, I can understand the reluctance to purge. That’s some damn expensive urine! I doubt there was ever a line for the women’s room.

I air drummed until I was sore. I screamed until I was horse. In between I bought beers until my wallet was empty. The band played better than I have ever heard them play, and seemed, at least from my far-off vantage point, to be having a good time doing it. The show was so enjoyable that the three hour set passed by much too quickly. Without even needing to say it, this incredible culmination of sixteen hundred miles of motorcycling can only be described as the Best Day Ever!

Supremely happy and content at being a small part of such a display of musical excellence, I was almost as excited to turn around and begin the sixteen hundred mile journey home.

Act Three can be found here.

Author: frenchy