5 Mar 2012 - posted by Glen
My forehead was beginning to peel in the glare of the late afternoon sun as our small column of bikes rolled into the servo. Then I noticed him out the corner of my eye, he stood on the shady side, weathered cowboy hat on a tilt, back against the wall and one leg bent, nothing special I thought, just some guy relaxing.
Having paid for the gas I returned to the bike and there he was.
“ You rode that here all the way from New Zealand?” he enquired. Yes, he had seen the New Zealand sticker on the back of the bike. “YEP sure did !”
“Beautiful country, during WW2 I was stationed in Wellington for the US military as a cook, yes sir, Beautiful country .... I sure did enjoy it there but after the war I returned here because, well where else could you want to be?”
Where else?, I thought in amazement. There wasn’t a building in sight, nothing for miles, flat, dusty and wind blown... he’s mad crossed my mind, but then I thought. He must be as old as my old dad, which is around 80 and he’s not in a nursing home. So who knows he may well be right!
This is a reoccurring oddity about America, like another gas station incident when an old blue bibbed guy pulled up in his weather beaten and liberally dented pickup full of rusted old car parts and junk..
“Where have you boys ridden from?” he asked. I answered pointing down the road to the right.
“Oh yeah, down thar .... I gotta go down thata ways someday!” Puzzled I said, well there’s the road and it’s only two hours drive. “Yep, he replied, but I’s never bin down thar cause I across the [state] line and I trades in metal, only comes in here for gas then goes back across ta sells it”
“ ONE DAY” drifted off his shoulder as he shuffled away.
“ One day I will ride America” a laugh danced across my face, how wonderful life is.
It is often quoted that Americans from the interior states don’t travel more than 80 miles in either direction of their letterbox in their lifetime.
Dennis, JD’s Motorsickle Tours.com
