I Just Want To Ride, Man

The first night after I got in from Frankfurt, Germany, Billy and I drove out to the beach because Bill wanted to go across the US from one coast to the other. So we had to drive all the way out to the beach in South Carolina to get a rightful start. On our way east that night, all Bill wanted to do was tell me about the movies I missed being in Germany. The way it worked, a movie would not make the overseas circuit through military bases until it had finished its circuit here in the States. So of course he wanted to tell me about all the movies I missed.

He kept talking about some movie about a girl with her head spinning around on her neck, or her body, or something? I was too happy just being with an old friend and having someone to talk to, I didn’t give a shit about some movie about exorcism. And I still don’t. I was very emotional at the time, I had just got off the airplane, I needed a drink or something, and it was hot and humid. I had never been on the east coast in summer before and it was something new for me. I hated the four winters I spent in the military, all I wanted was the warmth of California. Now I had too much.

We ended up sleeping in the Red Van on the beach and I got 200 mosquito bites, or so. I was so tired I didn’t care. The inside of the Red Van was so hot and humid I had to get out and get some air. I was tired and needed sleep but I couldn’t sleep in the heat so I ended up walking along the beach by myself just to get out of the hot van. Oh hell, the mosquitoes made it miserable, at least in the van the number of insects was limited. I was miserable and it wasn’t going to get any better for a long time.

To make the long trip short, I will only cover a few highlights of the trip. This is how we got to Idaho. Just as a note here, I could not remember too many of the places we passed through, I thought our second night was Albuquerque but thanks to Billy my memory is reinstated, it was Jackson Mississippi.

After the insect conflict on the beach in South Carolina, we drove to Jackson, Mississippi by way of Atlanta, Georgia. I had never been in the south before and Billy had told me about a guy in a song who had troubles in a bar while traveling through the south. The song ended with the artist’s comment that the next time he goes from Florida to California it will be through Omaha! Being the paranoid freak that I was back then I only had visions of roadhouse brawls and Bill and I nearly escaping with our lives and buckshot dents in the back door of the Red Van.

We got a motel room in Jackson when the mosquito bites were at their peak of itch/scratch. It was still hot and humid so I cut off some jeans and languished in the pool until my fingers wrinkled, it took extra long for that because I was still scratching. I stopped in the motel lobby and got some itch cream to squelch the ones I could reach. I finally got to sleep in the air-conditioned motel room and I still don’t remember getting up the next day.

So it was back on the road again, to paraphrase Willie Nelson. The country we traveled through was lush with trees and grass. I had two years of similar countryside in Europe, but the land was different, there is nothing like Western Europe for travel by car. Going back to my youth in California, the countryside was green and lush only for a few weeks in the spring, mostly the ground cover in California is brown grass studded by green Oak trees, unless you drive through the redwood forest or along the beach.

Mile after mile we traveled from one town to the next. The Mississippi River has always been something I wanted to see. I followed our progress on the map the best I could but it was quite a letdown when we finally passed over the muddy waters on an old rusty bridge. I expected it to be wider with lots of river boats and barges going up river with products for the masses and returning with grains and produce for the big city dwellers and for export. Texas loomed ahead.

For anybody who served in the Air Force, Lackland AFB in San Antonio is home. Billy wanted to visit the Jersey Lily, in Langtry along the Texas-Mexico border, the Rio Grande. This was the home and courthouse of Judge Roy Bean, the Hangin’ Judge, Law West of the Pecos. Therefore, we were going through San Antonio for points west.

We saw a billboard for one of those places you pass on the road when you are going somewhere. It was a cave in central Texas where the road had to swerve to avoid the unstable ground. Anyway the ad looked good. We decided to stop and for only a few dollars got the guided tour through a very well maintained cave with lots of cave architecture.

They had an underground tram, good lighting and when we all looked up to see daylight through a hole in the ceiling; we saw where a saber tooth tiger had scratched the wall trying to escape. They told us the tiger bones were still there and behind us it was true. They also told us that the cave was discovered when they drilled core samples for the highway, and bingo, they found it. On the way out we were treated to a very moving religious moment when they lit up a wall image of the lord.

We stopped in SA for something in a strip mall. I remember the motorcycle shop, it was just a storefront in a strip mall along the frontage road for the loop highway around San Antonio, but they had a rear tire for my Honda and guess what, I wanted it. I had noticed I needed a new rear tire and there it was. Billy said don’t spend your money on that, we need it for the trip. He was right, I bought the tire and we needed the money. That necessitated another stop later at Norton AFB in San Bernardino to get paid.

We made it to Del Rio and on to Langtry with just enough time to see the sunset over the Rio Grande. We of course arrived too late to see the Hangin’ Judge’s bar and courthouse so we climbed the wall and peeked over to see the Jersey Lily and all the holes in the roof and smokestack, that was the wild west. At least I got to see the Pecos and the Rio Grande come together.

On the trip up the western part of Texas we saw a long straight stretch of road ahead. It was about 30 or 40 miles of road that was calling me to ride. I told Billy I wanted to stop and unload my bike so I could ride.

“I just want to ride, man.” I said.

I was itching to be on my scooter again.

Billy was trying to convince me that I didn’t want to.

He said it like it was an insult to ask for help to unload my bike. I think he was envious because he didn’t bring his bike along too.

We didn’t stop, nor did I get to ride my Honda.


So we made it to Carlsbad and we wanted to see the Caverns. The elevator ride down was a rush and I was amazed to see so much food available at the snack bar 754 feet below the desert floor. Wow, I was so impressed to see such concern for the comfort of my fellow humans. I just had to overlook the price of hotdogs that far underground.

Seeing how we were now so close to Alamogordo New Mexico, we had to visit Steven Pundock, he was stationed at Homestead AFB just outside of town. Billy had Steven’s address and we waited only a few hours for him to arrive home from work, what a surprise eh? Come home from work on your Honda 500 four and find two old army buddies waiting for you at home.

Steven’s roommate worked at a theatre in town that was showing a special movie so we all went together to see a very well acclaimed movie of that era. It was right up there with Bob & Carol, Ted & Alice, The Graduate, and Rosemary’s Baby.

I have never seen Steven since, I have regretted not keeping in touch with him, and he did make a big influence in my life. Both Billy and I have tried to contact him, leaving messages, but neither one of us have heard back. I think he lives in Mesquite, Texas now.

After we stopped in San Bernardino for money Billy and I headed back in the wrong direction to see the Ghost Town of Calico, just outside of Barstow. You could almost hear the words of Kenny Rodgers as we read the signs depicting each shack or building. In fact the wording is the same.

Billy and I finally made it to my mom’s house in Modesto late that night. It wasn’t for a few days before we finally made it out to the beach in Pacifica to complete our coast-to-coast trip. What a pleasure to be in the fog of Pacifica as we visited my cousin Paul and his wonderful wife Shelly. We had a blast together and smoked a lot of Lemon Twist Cigarettes, enough to puke a lot.



My mom got remarried while we were there. She waited until I got back from Germany before she married her second husband, Tom. Too bad she didn’t check the police log before she married him. I think it should be the law. Tom was all right I guess, he was a devout Catholic, two hours every Sunday. The rest of the time he spent with a bottle.

Tom tried to keep everything my dad left for me. My father had quite a garage full of tools. Of course my dad told me they would become mine someday. Tom told me that it was too bad because they were his now.

Tom’s father helped build the first Panama Canal. Tom’s father died in the late 1970s and left all his tools from a long career as a Tool and Die maker for his three sons and many grandkids. Tom claimed all that stuff too, the greedy bastard. If you ever want to see what Tom’s father left them, come over and visit sometime, I’d be glad to show you.

That and most of the stuff my dad left me too.

Anyway, Billy delivered me to Mountain Home AFB on the day before I had to report in. Thanks Billy, it was fun; I know you are reading this. When I reported in I also got paid for the time I was off gallivanting around the west. Remember the problems I had with the carburetors on my Honda? I set out for Boise right away and found the local Honda dealer.

Two Mikuni carbs to go please.

I figured I had the system beat. I was trading in those constant velocity factory carbs that would stick on me, and I was getting a couple of the best-upgraded items for my bike available at that time. I couldn’t wait to get back to base and change out those carbs. So with the boxes strapped to the rear seat of my Honda I headed back to the air base.

Wow what a difference. The old Honda twin ran really well. A little trip down to Twin Falls along the Snake River and I was in heaven, maybe I could like Idaho after all. Just me and my Honda, riding through frequent patches of potatoes, looking for what Evil Knievel had left behind.

Happiness comes in small packages. Mikuni carbs come in small packages.

Boy that bike ran good.

That is until I got to Jerome.

That is when I discovered how far out in the sticks Idaho is.