Texas Motorcycling Myth Busted

[dank]

For the past nine months I have marveled wonders the Texas group tell of riding in Texas, especially during our northern winter..… proclaiming Texas to be a virtual Nomad Nirvana. A place where the culture is motorcycle friendly and swarms of Nomads sweep about the country side reveling in the constant sun and warmth, with absolutely righteous speed limits and where every crossroad has a roadhouse brimming with beer and biking comrades. A magical place where even the deer politely jump over your bike instead of standing in front of it and getting hit like they do up north.

So off I went. I headed for Texas. As I approached the border this morning on Interstate 30 my excitement was palpable in spite of the rain. I had passed Noah and his ark twice on the interstate on my way from Little Rock to Texarkana. (Apparently he floated by and got ahead again while I ate breakfast.) But that would soon be forgotten. Nothing but sunshine ahead….TEXAS. One more mile. I started accelerating. What would the speed limit be in this last bastion of personal freedom? They had mentioned 75 and 80. Maybe “Let your conscience be your guide” or “You know your bike better than we do: go whatever you think is safe.” I shot across the line. I thought about stopping to kiss the ground, but I would have had to stick my nose under water to do so. I resisted the urge. But never mind the rain. I knew it had to just be a maverick storm that had strayed across the border from Arkansas. Trip and the boys would undoubtedly shoo it back home in no time at all. Then I saw the sign. The speed limit was…..60 mph. 60! What the heck! Sheesh, the Canucks let you go faster than that. Have to convert it from metric, but even they let you go 66. I released the throttle and hydroplaned down to 60.

The rain increased. I tried to ignore it. After all, this was Texas! Nomad Nirvana. And I realized I was in town, and expected that even the Texans have to have some rules and limits in such settings. I waited to accelerate until I got out of town. I saw the sign, grabbed the throttle, and the new speed limit was…70. Now wasn’t that special! But the next sign really caught my attention: Loose gravel next 22 miles. For the northerners I must point out that you should not be marveling that in Texas they let you go 70 on rural gravel lanes, which is the only place you would find such a road up north. Nope, this was the fabled Texas interstate with a gravel surface and rain coming down so hard I couldn’t see the other lanes. It was like something Dan Lund would dream up: “I wonder if I could ride a Nomad down a rocky river bed at 70 mph?” (Dan, in case you are wondering, yes, you can.)

And where were all the bikes? I did not see a one. Not one. To be fair, I should say none passed me heading into Texas. There may have been, and likely were a bunch heading the other way. The visibility was so poor I wouldn’t have seen them. But I made it to Dallas, will be off to San Antonio tomorrow, then up to Albuquerque. I just hope my engine doesn’t get flooded before I get out of the state, after all, the air intake is only about 2 ft off the ground.

I present this summary for TC, Dakals, and others up north. Now you know the truth. The myth of Texas as a Nomad Nirvana is busted: an internet hoax. So next winter when your bike is safely stored in the garage and the Texans start in again with all the blarney about their rides, just chuckle, toss another log on the fire, and thank your luck stars you aren’t in TEXAS.

Dank ;)

(I fear the perceived heresy due to the plural in my last sentence my cause apoplexy among the Texans in the group, so let me explain. Contrary to the populist point of view in Texas, we northerners hold that there is a credible body of evidence that points to there being more than one star.)