How disappointing.

Granted, this tire –  a Michelin Pilot Road II, one of the best I’ve found – faithfully served Rain Cloud Follows on both the Road to WrestleMania XXVI ride and on the Alaskan Adventure – in fact, when I did the math – using my fingers and toes – I realized the tire had over 12,000 miles on it, but still, what a hunk of junk! To give up the tread now, out here in the middle of nowhere, so close to home could be a big disaster; unless of course, I could find a nearby motorcycle shop with a tire that fits.

A quick Google search put my mind at rest. Deming Cycle Center was located less than a mile from my hotel. What could be easier?

Well, for one, the shop could still be in business, which, of course, it wasn’t.

I started making a flurry of phone calls. I quickly learned that there isn’t much in the way of motorcycle dealers out in the lonely middle of New Mexico, so my calling flurry was exactly two calls long. The first shop I tried didn’t have the tire I needed, and wanted my credit card number and my left kidney to install the crappy tire they did have. The second shop I called, Cochise Motorsports in Sierra Vista, AZ not only had the tire in stock, their service department made it clear they were overstocked with kidneys, and quoted me a very reasonable price, sweetening the deal by promising to install the tire as soon as I arrived.

I limped two hundred miles from Deming, and during a quick lunch next door, the excellent service department at Cochise outfitted Rain Cloud Follows with brand new sneaker, and both man and machine were set for the long slog home.

Thanks, Cochise Motorsports!

The mechanic warned me that the new tire might be a little slick, and recommended taking it easy for the first hundred miles or so. During lunch, I consulted the Map-kin and realized that the Coronado National Memorial, another hard-to-get-to, out-of-the-way National Memorial was only thirty miles from my present position. What a perfect way, I reasoned, to break in my new tire, and cross another National Monument off my list.

What is Coronado a National Memorial to? I have no idea. Instead of getting an Monument education, I spent my time in the visitor’s center asking the cute ranger chick if she drew the short straw to get assigned to this far out of the way post.

“No,” she said, “I actually picked this place. I wanted to work here.”

“Why?”

Motioning over her shoulder, she replied, “I wanted to work for my boss.”

Her boss, sitting behind his desk and looking all rangerly was probably the most handsome ranger in the whole Park Service. This stud could easily have been the National Parks ranger recruitment poster hunk.

Got it.

I’d noticed on my analog map another dashed line out of the the park, leading in a roundabout way back to the highway. I asked the cute rangerette about road conditions.

“Well, it hasn’t rained in a long time, so you’ll probably be OK. Motorcycles go through there all the time. You won’t have a problem.”

At that moment, I could think of no better way to break in my new sport touring tire than scraping it up another mountain dirt road. I proceeded with the confidence the Lord only ordains in a fool.

About a mile up the narrow, winding goat path, I was stopped by my new best friends, the US Border Patrol. One agent, dressed from head to toe in camouflage, with three pistols strapped to his person, walked up to me shaking his head.

Eyeballing the Glock holstered on this guy’s chest, I nervously stammered, “Umm, am I OK to go through here?”

He laughed, “Yep, son, you’re OK, but you’re also nuts! I never seen a bike that big up this way.”

That’s OK, I know something that this well-armed GI Joe wannabe probably doesn’t. The Lord looks after a fool.

I stopped to take my final Ghost Rider tribute picture of this ride.

Ghost Rider Tribute – Final Day

Through seventeen miles of dirt, this fool was well looked after. Not only by the Big Biker in the Sky, but also by the US Border Patrol. I counted seventeen patrol trucks that passed me; most drivers shaking their heads at my folly. I never ended up under the motorcycle as I slipped and slid over gravel, mud and through three water crossings. Only once did I get really scared – through my final, particularly hairy water crossing. As I deftly flailed Rain Cloud Follows through the rapidly flowing water, I shouted out, “HerrrUmmmWoo! Ha ha ha! ShitshitshitshitSHIT! AAAhhhhh! FUCK! WoooGrrHaHaHa!“

Nobody heard me, proving the old adage that if a numbskull shouts in the woods, nobody really cares.

In hindsight, I probably should have asked Cochise Motorsports to put a knobby dirt tire on instead.

Safely back on pavement, I soaked in some more of that beautiful Southwestern scenery.

I stopped in a restaurant, and was a little startled by my waitresses’ all too familiar accent.

“How you doin’? You rode that bike all the way heah from Rho’ Disland?”

A fellow New Englander. Perfect. She told me that thirty years ago, she came from Massachusetts to babysit for a weekend, and never left. We chatted a while, and when I asked her about all the border patrol trucks I’d seen, she said, “Yeah, you know, illegals and smugglahs come through heah every night. Sometimes they knock on my dooh late at night askin’ for food and watah. I give them some because they’re humans aftah all, but then I tell ’em to be on theih way. I still like it heah bettah than the East Coast. I don’t miss all that snow!”

I got on my way, back on the highway and hammered all the way to Yuma. I thought I could win back the cost of my tire at a casino, which proved a bad idea. The Lord may look after a fool, but not all the time.

The next morning, I decided to get up early, cut my losses and make short work of the remaining miles between me and the garage. By this time, even my riding picture action shots were half-assed.

With these few final snapshots, my 3452 mile journey was complete. I toasted the Best Ride Ever with my beautiful girlfriend, and, uncontrollably, that familiar melancholy post-ride feeling once again set in.

The Entire 3452 Mile Route

One thing cheered me up a little. There are rumors that Rush may continue the Time Machine Tour next spring and summer…

To Be Continued…

Author: frenchy

One Response to “Rush-ing to Houston – Encore”

1. Mark says:

   November 8, 2010 at 3:03 AM

   Oh…..wait…….you were in San Antonio?????? Like…..in Texas????

   And I guess calling your “buddies” Lance and Mark never crossed your mind then, hunh?!?!?!

   I know we do a piss poor job of keeping up on any kind of ride reports on our rides like you do on yours, but we don’t have the time or the skills that you do to do so!

   Man, are our feelings hurt……………but I’m sure a good ride sometime complimented by some “Scotch Happy Juice” will make us forgive.

   Reply