Day 8

As the 2018 Prefrontal Tour left Amarillo before sunrise, I learned that cows can smell in two completely different ways, or at least I hope for their sake they can... If you aggregate enough of them in one place, then cows can smell very *badly*. And if I'm right about the big guy upstairs, he would have gifted any animal that poops where it eats the ability to smell very *poorly*. So there you have it. The wide-open flatness of Texas gradually gave way to small gulleys, then large valleys, and finally plateaus and tan buttes rising out of the red soil and the sage green prairies between them. The color reminded me of my wife's decorating advice, "Celery goes with everything". We continued westward as our trackers are by now aware, and passed a lot of coyotes sleeping by the side of the road. We noted that the speed limit gradually increases as you go further west and at this rate we expect the signs in California to say "Bring it". From Amarillo we passed through Albuquerque and all the way into Arizona, stopping for the night in a small town called Holbrook just off Interstate 40 because of the impressive lightning show to the north. Out here you get to see the entire storm, top to bottom and wall to wall. I had some time to think today about my father's trip to Alaska and how much he had enjoyed the experience of driving back, and I wondered if he'd identify with the Tour or just tell me to get back to work. I laughingly put the odds at 70-30 on getting back to work. It also struck me today that I should do a supplement to the Tour notes about the difference between your two intrepid travellers. There probably couldn't be more difference between Jim and me, in approach, attire, motorcycle, gear, or support network. While I ride a Honda Goldwing which is known for its reliability, it's an older bike from 2003, and plastic, rubber and electronics get old and fail. And when a Goldwing fails, it's probably something computerized that requires an engineering degree and a couple of days to fix, as we saw earlier in the Tour. Jim's 2014 Harley on the other hand has a reputation for being unreliable, but it's made of components that are simple in nature, not unlike the Farmall Cub tractors from the 1950s that I used to repair. No less than three times we've had to stop so I could tighten or replace Jim's shift levers which are separating from both ends of their splined shaft. But the parts are generally available from a big dealer network that is extremely friendly and welcoming, and not in that lurking way that you see at the Honda dealers and used car lots everywhere. Honda dealers are also more likely to be a mixed bag of brands and they're much more focused on selling side-by-sides and ATVs, so you're not likely to see a Goldwing anywhere in the building, let alone any parts. While Jim wears jeans and otherwise all black and grey low-visibility attire, (each piece of which is emblazoned with a Harley logo), I wear an off brand armored safety suit in "Ow My Face Yellow". Jim's half helmet doesn't protect much, and he doesn't wear earplugs so he can't hear for a while after we stop due to the blasting stereo and the wind noise, which can be louder than a jet engine. Meanwhile my full-face helmet is wired for sound, and ear plugs are mandatory wear. Jim looks cool, and I look like a total dork. You could say we both want to be seen, just in different ways. In biker parlance Jim dresses for the ride, and I dress for the slide - but in the chemical industry safety is hammered into you, and you either get the religion of safety or you win extra raffle tickets for lunch with Jesus. I chose my travel partner wisely in that Jim is extremely friendly and can and will talk to anyone, a trait I hope to develop. I used to think Jim approached others, but on this trip I've realized it's actually other people approaching him, a total stranger, to ask where we're from and where we're off to, wishing us safe travels. There's something to being seen, and how. Onward and upward.


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