Drop of a hat 2002 . .
Where will the hat land? - February
2002
Yet again, a totally spontaneous trip! And I
shouldn’t really be sitting up here above the Atlantic tapping
on my laptop as I have a mountain of work (that pays me a
living) and hundreds of renewal envelopes! But can I blame you
lot? Pressure of work? Deluged with club renewals? Inundated
with e-mails? I just needed a break and coupled with the fact
that I heard about a triples meeting at a steak house in Dallas
and the fact that I had a coyote that was missing me badly in
Atlanta, I find myself aboard a sparsely populated 757
continental airlines jet heading for Newark New York (o.k.
Jersey but who’s picky?) The flight was too good to miss at £200
and the connection to Atlanta was just £70 . . IF I had booked
it a few days earlier, by the time I had convinced myself that I
was going all the cheap seats were gone and the darn flight cost
around the same as the Dallas flight! Still, I will get to meet
the Dallas Community Triples owners, Bill Baxter, Maddog, Saint
Barry etc and also see Sam again (Chainsaw to you message
boarders) and hope fully get my Coyote on a plane back to
Blighty! It will also give me time to do some writing for the
next newsletter (trying to justify the trip to myself here J )
One thing that I am dreading is landing in the dark and trying
to find my way around Dallas - whilst spending eternities at
airports and in hotel rooms I suppose I will make a diary of the
trip.
On arrival at Newark I clear customs control
faster than a first class passenger, I have spent MANY hours
sitting around at this airport and it seems strangely empty, I
know it is midweek but I think that the events of Sept 11th are
still wreaking havoc with the airlines some Four Months on. One
thing that does surprise me is that the staff at Newark appear
to have been on a customer relations course, they are polite and
actually talk to you rather than grunt at you, it is strange to
see armed soldiers patrolling the airport, but I actually
enjoyed the boring three hour wait rather than feel intimidated
like I have in the past. I even bought a map of Dallas so I
could try and plan a bit of a route out (what’s this? Bretty
getting old and forward planning?) I’ll tell you what, another
bit of forward planning that came up trumps - I tried a pair of
specs on at last weekends Newark Autojumble and the weakest set
improved my close up vision immensely, so much so that I can
read the darn map I just bought! - £2.00 well spent! (the joys
of old age are fast approaching L )
So, the 3.15 flight from Newark is on time
and things are looking good, as we approach Dallas we encounter
a period of turbulence, for those that are lucky enough to have
ever flown over the grand canyon in a small plane I have to say
this flight was similar, or maybe similar to riding the waltzers
for a while? It was the first time during all my hours in the
air that I had heard passengers using the "paper bags"! We land
in a lightening storm in Dallas and as I collect my hire car I
dread the journey ahead . . . a 20 mile drive, whilst tired, on
strange roads, map reading in the dark and a torrential
thunderstorm - this was not the going to be best time of my life
. . but it all worked out and I rolled into my "Days Inn" around
midnight.
Next morning the rain is still cascading down
and this dumb "so and so" forgot to bring a coat! A quick trip
across the road to Dennys and I plump for the "Farmers Slam" . .
three eggs, peppers, sausage meat . . . Yummy . . . well until I
saw it . . It looked strangely like something you find in the
car park of a pub at closing time! I check out the locality and
see where the meeting on Friday is going to be (Kirbys), whilst
driving round Dallas it becomes apparent why all the women HAVE
to have auto boxes on the cars . . . they would NEVER be able to
change gear AND talk on the mobile phone otherwise!
From
there I head out to a place I visited some four years back near
Weatherford, my memory isn’t too bad as I wander down the road
to "Homers" cycle shop. Homer remembers me and neither the stock
nor the bikes for breaking have changed much in the last four
years, there are VERY few Kawasaki parts left but I pick up a
few manuals and a couple of ’69 H1 rear footrest rubbers and
some front and rear S2 footrest rubbers, also some genuine
workshop manuals. A few hundred dollars later and I am heading
back into Weatherford in search of a bed for the night, I check
out the Holiday inn but at Seventy quid a night I give it a
miss, a hundred yards away is a motel8 at Fourty quid . .
that’ll do nicely! Just up the road there is a Golden Corrall
where they have "all you can eat" steaks for the princely sum of
Eight pounds . . Stupidly I fill myself up with coke, salad and
bread and as I am full to bursting on just One steak I don’t
make the most of it but instead head off in search of a nice
bottle of Red wine to wash it down with . . . .An hour later and
I have visited several supermarkets and driven down every road
in Weatherford and the realisation finally dawns on me, this is
a TOTALLY dry community (the town is about the size of
Mansfield!) So, back to the motel room and I have a futile night
trying to connect to the Internet, Fifteen pounds worth of phone
calls later I admit defeat and try to catch up on some sleep, a
long night lay ahead as I realised why the room is so
reasonable, . . the freeway is just yards away and those huge
trucks make a hell of a row as they struggle up the incline!
Next day I head off back to Dallas and as I
drive down the road I see a car some 20 feet in the air
advertising a wreckers yard, nothing ventured, nothing gained, I
pull in and ask if they know of any motorcycle wreckers yards,
luckily there is a small one just three miles up the road, I
make my way up there to a small yard in the middle of nowhere,
as I walk around the yard the owner is just opening shop, I ask
if he has any triple parts? "I reckon I have a H2 or H3 out the
back there", we go out and lo and behold there is a half
reasonable H1e in the yard, standard reasonable pipes, rotted
seat, half good chrome, standard airbox and silencer etc "The
motors locked up" says the owner, I ask how much he is looking
at ? " Aww $250" Do you have anything else I ask? "There’s a
KZ900 in the garage" We venture in and there is a half decent
KZ900 with standard pipes but the points plate and cam cover
missing, I ask how much? "$500" is the reply, we go back out to
the H1e and I have a closer look, the bike is really salvageable
with some quite decent parts on it, I ask what the bottom price
is for the bike, "let me
see
. . . I suppose I would let it go for $100" SH*T! I have no way
of moving the bike and wished I hadn’t asked for the price, I
face a dilemma, do I buy the bike for Seventy quid and rob the
pipes, Airbox, ignition system off it? But that would be
sacrilege; I just take the details and plan to give the details
to some lucky guy at the meeting.
So, back to Dallas and I again check out the exact location
of Kirbys steakhouse, I wander into a local store and pick up a
booklet of money off coupon– One is for the "La Quinta" hotel
just a mile from my destination, I get the bargain rate of
Fourty quid a night and I go and check in, a great room and well
worth the money – I try to access my mails on the Internet but
struggle, I can see that there are nearly 70 waiting but the
connection is painfully slow and it keeps dropping out. I wander
off around the area and rather than hit a "Maccy D" I decide to
indulge in a nice glass of wine and a good quality burger, the
"Greenville bar and grill" suits my criteria well, the wine at
Five quid a glass is not cheap but very nice, I order a burger
with fries, the burger turns up looking great . . my first slice
turns to horror as the burger bleeds more than a haemophiliac on
Wolferen. I drink the wine and leave the burger – O.K. A
typically wimpy English guy, but where I come from Steaks can be
raw but burgers that bleed are "dodgy" to say the least! I head
off back to the motel and try to grab a little sleep, no such
luck!
8pm
sees me grab a cab and head for Kirbys, I call the place on the
way and ask to speak to Barry Burton (I had never spoken to or
met any of these guys, but we are all regular "posters" on the
Triples message board) Barry is stunned to hear me and thanked
me for making the effort to wish them a great night, I then
speak to (Sir) Bill Baxter but have to cut him short as the taxi
is pulling up outside. I take a deep breath and go into the
restaurant, I walk up to the table and a couple of guys do a
double take as they sort of figure out who I am . . seconds
later the penny drops and the look on the guys faces was totally
priceless! ! ! ! From the picture above we have clockwise,
Myself, Jim J (H1), Big Mike C (H1e), John Ingram (H2), Sir Bill
Baxter ( Multiple H2 drag bikes), Matt "Maddog" Chalmers (H2),
David Hilton (H1e), Mr Barry Burton esquire (3 x H2, S2) –
Please to report that they all fall into he regular triple
owners age bracket (Even if John thinks he is and Barry just
looks it!)!
I ordered a steak and chips, the guys ragged
me about having it burnt to a cinder, but, I have to say in ALL
honesty that even if it was burnt it was still one of the best
steak and chip meals of my life and I have had a LOT of them
over the years! However, I could only take so much flak about my
partly cremated steak and I sampled a piece of Jim J’s "rare"
porterhouse(?) steak, (More like RAW! I reckon the sun could
have cooked it deeper - I swear it "moo"ed at me when I cut into
it!) I am so glad that the lighting was low and I couldn’t see
too much of what I was eating . . . but what a shock, the steak
was divine, it just melted in my mouth . . . Now if only I could
get over the visual thing of a rare steak I may well try more in
the future. So, the night was spent exchanging tales and
drinking. I was on my best behaviour and neither got too drunk
nor got up to anything outrageous! My sincere thanks to John
Ingram for a wonderful night made doubly so by the fact that
John Owns "Kirbys" and he picked up the tab for the nights beer
and food!
I think I arrived back at the motel sometime
after 1.30am and again tried to get online to download mails,
failing miserably I gave up at 3am and hit the sack . . . I
stupidly left my mobile on, O.K. who was the **** that called me
at 5am (11am our time) to ask for a Z1 head gasket? No chance of
getting back to sleep now! So I get up and again try to get
Internet access. I make my way over to Barry Burtons house
around 10am, did I say house? Sorry I meant to say Palace! The
guys house was sumptuous in the extreme. We check out his bikes
in the garage and Barry tells me about the party the weekend
before when Bill B took his Denco chambered H2 out for a blast
at 3am in this "upper class" quiet neighbourhood . . It didn’t
go down well to say the least . .. but hey, these are TRUE
triples guys!
We start off on a days tour of the Dallas
guys, first stop is at Tony Daratas house, Tony has H2 and about
Four early H1’s in the throws of restoration, we go thru some
stuff and an hour later we are heading off across to John
Ingrams house. John has a restored ’72 H2 and a superb Dodge
challenger. The H2 John bought new when he was a teenager and a
couple of years ago he had one of the mechanics from "Powersports"
(Mark & Matthew Jacksons place in Illinois) restore the bike to
it’s former glory. The Dodge challenger is I think a 1971, fully
rebuilt using a 400hp(?) modern (read RELIABLE) engine and fully
re-worked transmission, this is a REAL muscle car, John takes me
out for a blast and on a quiet road does a rolling burnout that
leaves us both laughing for half a mile! To coin a Maddog
expression "this car rocks!" John is my kind of guy . . . . a
Fourty+ year old teenager!. . . (Nipper your charger has a
competition) . . ((actually Nipper, John goes yearly to the
Mopar nationals – you need to get in touch)).
Soon my chauffeur Barry and I are heading off
south in search of Bill Baxters place, an hour or so later we
are pulling up and Bill is out in the garage tinkering with One
of his Three H2 Dragbikes, this bike has a Z1 gearbox welded to
it and as I inspect the gears I am reminded of those old days
repairing ERF truck gearboxes! These cogs are HUGE! We wander to
the other garage and look at bills stockpile of parts, enough to
keep him going for a few years, Bills knowledge on Standard
machinery is limited but you start him talking dragging a H2 and
he leaves me for dead . . this guy is a living legend! We did
have a laugh as Bill fired up a spare drag bike and did a short
burn on the driveway . . . problem is that the front brake
hydraulics had leaked and he shot off into his garage faster
than Bin Laden down a rabbit hole! After a great COOKED steak
sandwich (thanks Karen2) we headed back to Barry’s place (sorry
missed an A out there) where he had organised a quick party in
my honour.
Back at Barry’s and I am shown to one of the
guest bedrooms (the bed is bigger than my bedroom!) at this
stage I am dog tired, having had just 5 hours sleep in the last
3 days . . But as the "Guys" and partners show up a couple of
hours later we slowly get in the mood for a good night, the
girls gather in the kitchen and we wander off to the garage to
talk bikes and fix blown sound systems (yes, in the garage!) by
midnight I am dead on my feet, but it IS a once in a lifetime
thing and I persevere . . . largely influenced by Karen1’s (Barrys
wife) great cooking and wine selection J At 4am I can take no
more and sit for a while on the Floor of Barry’s office . .
.within seconds I am out like a light and allegedly snoring like
a good ‘un.
5am and my hosts Barry and Karen are up with the larks (o.k. so
Barry didn’t even crash out), they wake me up, still on the
floor doing my snoring impressions and drag me off to the
airport, baggage checked, and as I go through security I am, for
the first time, frisked quite rigorously, shoes off etc. I
passed with flying colours, and collect my carry on baggage, but
as I looked at the net side pocket I saw my new Leatherman multi
knife staring at me! Unfortunately I think a soldier standing
next to me also saw what I was looking at, dilemma, do I get on
board and not declare it or do I say something? Well, I rather
stupidly did the right thing and I thought it best to mention it
to One of the "friskers" - he appeared embarrassed, and left me
in limbo. After standing there for a minute I approached a
supervisor and told him I had a knife, "Impossible" . . . It's
in my bag, "How did you get it through, wasn't it screened?"
Ermmm yes, it is in the side pocket here . . . a few awkward
looks from the staff, they re-screened the bag, made me get my
PC working, whilst they stumbled for excuses to the supervisor,
and then I had to go back to the check in desk and leave the
knife there, oh, and then go through the whole screening process
again! The screening process is still a token gesture, maybe
just there to try and re-assure the flying public? Every little
helps, but I for One realise that it is totally impossible to
vet thousands of travellers and hour to any great extent. You
pay your money and you take your chance – you are FAR more
likely to die on your bike or of a heart attack than flying!
So, once on the flight it is and hour and a
quarter uneventful flight to Kansas, and then a short sit around
for the next flight to Atlanta. The sun is out in Atlanta and
the 40 minute drive to Sam (Chainsaws) house goes well, 4pm and
it is down to a local bar for "breakfast! Burger and Beer . .(
the waitress actually asked how I wanted the burger cooked! –
Tip to "Greenville" waitress there!) does life get any better?
Back
to Sam's house and we set about the task of my visit, crating up
the little coyote that I have bought, the bike is rough but runs
fine (as Sam proves) and will look good again one day (won’t it
Mal?) We remove the bars and forks to minimize the size, the
wheels and seat are off and the tank removed and drained. Sam
gets out a huge tool trunk and starts to pull out his power
tools and wood to make up the crate, we start to measure up and
as I look at Sams huge plastic power tool case I mention in jest
that the bike would even fit in it .the joke turns serious as we
look at each other as if someone switched a light on! Out with
the tape measure, the box is just a fraction too small . . .
but, there is a hardware super centre just a mile away, I
comment that it’s a shame that it is 5pm and the store was hut,
but hey this is the good ole U.S. of A The store isn’t shut at
that time even on a Sunday! We head on over there and for the
princely sum of Twenty quid I have a suitable tub and Two
ratchet straps! Back at Sam's and the bike fits in the tub to
perfection! We throw it in the back of the truck and head for
the post office, it’s 6pm now and unfortunately we are out of
luck, but I now know where it is and it should be all plain
sailing.
Back at Sam's we check out a few message on the net and just
chill out for a while, I head back to the hotel with the full
intention of trying to catch up on some missed sleep, I stop off
to indulge in a bottle of Nice Californian red wine, but at the
checkout I am stunned to hear "Sorry sir we don’t sell alcohol
in Atlanta on a Sunday" . . . . Did I ever tell you how I miss
CERTAIN things about England so much ???
