Here’s a shot that nearly got missed y’day, Toto. The Bordertown Truckstop. Seriously, this is where I decided to make a high speed run down into Oklahoma before sunset last evening, which was an hour late by the clock. I’m actually still in Vinita, stranded by an early morning fog. I’m warm and comfortable, no need to worry, and I’ve got “Golden Ship” with me. They are now at the stage of court injunctions to keep cling-ons and camp followers like my brothers away from the treasure site.
Since there is an Ace [hardware] in town, I’ll used the day to effect a few minor repairs, but I believe the entire faring is coming off that motorcycle shortly. It does not cut down on the wind or rain and jostles going over the railway tracks. I can’t remove it until I find a headlight that mounts on the forks, but I’ll also get a windscreen mounted the same way. And the electrical needs a complete redo. I can’t figure out why the factory wiring is so tight in there, since none of the traces are exposed to the elements.
This might be repetitious, but today amounts to the time I was in Vinita, OK. Unsure of the extent of the damage to the Honda, I dropped into most of the local mechanic shops without success. Not that I was expecting to find a Honda expert, that would be like finding a computer expert there as well. Vinita itself is a dozen blocks square and reminds me of Anytown, USA. One food store, two 24/7’s on either outskirt, and but for the rail and road traffic, dead silent.
I intended to leave by daybreak, but I finally looked at 5:25 on the clock and wondered why it was so light outside. There was a power failure, so I know I overslept by 5:25, figure it out. It was past 11:00, man, I must have slept! It was also past checkout at the Relax Inn, so I paid for another day. No discount. I then proceeded to troubleshoot the entire motorcycle, to find no repairs were possible on the road. For instance, the speedometer problem is the part inside the front hub, the little spinner thingee doesn’t spin.
This was discovered with the aid of Smith’s Auto, in the west end. A friendly place with a computer that was nearly seized up by everything from malware to Microsoft garbage applications. By day’s end, we had most of if cleared away, though only with great and uncommon effort. Like so many computers owned by regular folk, the Internet gradually allowed unscrupulous software to take over to the extent 60% of the CPU was wasted running junk in the background. There oughtta be a law.
For something to do, I drove up and down every street for a look-see. There are excellent houses that could be purchased for a few pennies on the dollar, not just this town, but every town. Again I conclude that a condition for being on welfare is every last city recipient be required to move out to these small towns. It would boost these smaller towns by 500%, subject welfare types to intense scrutiny of both their true income and actual work abilities to a degree only possible in a rural setting, and the single grocery store in town could serve as an effectual audit of foot stamp activity. Too bad I forgot my camera behind, or I’d prove all I just wrote.
After a half day of squatting in the O’Reilly’s parking lot ( an auto parts chain) looking for electrical shorts, I decided I wanted a cold beer. Other than a club and the VFW, there is but one watering hole, and it is across the tracks. PS, it was not my imagination, there really are two train lines that run perpendicular to each other. I’ve never seen a cross-track setup except on model railroads. Again, no photo.
This club had no sign, and looked like an abandoned something or other. Inside was different. An Internet juke box, loud speakers, a pool table, and ice cold Budweisers for a buck fifty. I stuck around for happy hour wishing I could stay, but got back here by dusk. No available women, no live music, what a city-slicker I’ve become. The accomplishment for today amounted to replacing the brake lights (for the third time in a month) and partially removing the faring.
I located a used motorcycle parts store in Muskogee, so check in tomorrow for progress. If all goes right, I’ll try to fix the cycle and make it to Montgomery. If everything goes right, there will be no hurry to get back to Hollywood, if it doesn’t go right, I push on as much as I can to where I know I have a good mechanic.
Last, the progress report of the gold ship. Well, like Moby Dick, most of the action has to happen in the last couple of chapters, since there are only 50 pages left. They’ve found the gold , it is 1987, but they have not recovered it yet. The book is interesting reading because it says a lot about the US legal system. For example, whenever they filed for ownership of a wreck, the location was made public information and they were shadowed, nearly rammed, and had to protect the site. Hmm, sounds familiar.
I plan to read independent accounts of this event. Not wanting to be labeled “treasure hunders”, the book says the expedition heavily photographed the site, but this was before the Internet took off. They describe the rolls of film, so I guess there must be two thousand photographs of “magazine quality”. This motel has no WiFi to see if they’ve been uploaded. In 1987, I doubt I would have paid much attention to such as story, as I was traveling overseas, starting a band, and dealing with a crazy woman. And I was 25 years younger with plenty of challenges of my own.
ADDENDUM
I’m 360 miles behind where I could have been hoofing it along the freeways, but time is not that important on this trip. The Denver-Miami trip could be made in four days on the sidecar, but minus any element of enjoyment. The fact is, staying put in a motel actually saves me money, since the sidecar burns up $75 in gasoline per day on the road. The leading suspect on that is another item I can’t fix on the road, a front brake pad not fully releasing. But, each of these little problems will be dealt with in good time.
Until I get a speedometer cable, I’m guessing at the daily mileage, but it is averaging 500 miles. That includes stopping fairly often, both for gas and the odd small town tour. The map shows the only good road through Arkansas is to Memphis, where I’ve never been. It would be freeway travel, but I had to do that to get across Mississippi and Louisiana on the outbound leg. These are states where I have no reason to stop, simple as that.
