The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, or at least that's what Mr. Erdon taught us in eighth grade geometry class. What Mr. Erdon failed to tell us is that the straightest line, while fastest, is usually the least interesting path. It took me a lot of motorcycling trial and error to figure this important fact out.

By way of a little background, my steadfast riding buddy Abi, better known as Dark Meat Snack and I have worked as audio engineers for World Wrestling Entertainment for most of the past decade. Every single week of the year finds us traveling somewhere on the planet, bringing all the glorious sounds of Sports Entertainment - the grunts, groans, chair shots and screams - to our mass of wrestling fans. 

An unintended benefit of all this travel is, if the show is within a reasonable distance, Dark Meat Snack and I can commute to work on Rain Cloud Follows and Snowball, our trusty, well traveled motorcycles.



Wrestlemania is World Wrestling Entertainment's Super Bowl. The show, attended by a crowd of over 70,000 fans, and watched by millions on Pay Per View is the culmination of a year's worth of story lines. This year's extravaganza, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the show that started it all is being held at the Reliant Stadium in Houston.

As soon as Houston was announced as the home of the twenty-fifth anniversary of Wrestlemania, the wheels of my little mental Habitrail started spinning. In a straight line, Houston is only fifteen-hundred or so miles from my adopted home in California. A few months ago, Dark Meat Snack and I sat down in a dark bar somewhere, and over a few frothy pints of Guinness, plotted out our latest scheme.


The Road To Wrestlemania Map-kin.

With hard-won straight-line-is-boring knowledge in mind during the 'Road to Wrestlemania Map-kin Route Planning Phase' we improvised an interesting route from California to Houston that avoided straight lines like I avoid proctologist visits.

Coming up with some mildly creative travel options to leave the show the week before our little trip, we realized we could easily get on the road on Tuesday afternoon, giving us almost six days to ride the Road to Wrestlemania. With that, and a huge bar tab, the plan was nearly complete.

My beautiful girlfriend Fiona, a.k.a Sleeping Beauty decided to sit this leg of the trip out. We're pretty sure she contracted the dreaded Black Death strain of the bubonic plague during our recent ride to Death Valley. 



She decided instead of riding in the chilly spring air again, the best remedy for her cold would be to fly to her sister's house in sunny San Antonio, where we would meet her on the way to Houston.

And with that final piece of the puzzle in place, everything was set. Time took on that slow, slippery quality it always does when something great and fun is right around the corner. Finally, The 'Big Day' arrived, though Delta Airlines did their best to ruin it. After a nice, lengthy, not-at-all-frustrating runway delay, the Airbus flight computer got over its case of the hiccups, and by two PM, Dark Meat Snack and I loaded up and were finally rolling down the road to Houston.





First stop? Joshua Tree National Park, perfectly disrupting Mr. Erdon's straight line theory. I usually try to have some sort of theme idea on a ride, be it National Parks or lighthouses or whatever; though often times the real theme will just naturally evolve. The first evolving theme of this ride quickly became 'How Many Miles Can We Add?' The Joshua Tree detour added quite a few, but the scenery and road were well worth it.








I Need To Wash My Fried Liver!!!

From Joshua Tree National Park, we put the hammer down and sped through about half of the approximately two hundred boring, straight-line highway miles necessary for this ride. 



The craptastic Super 8 in Quartzsite, AZ became our first home away from home. Fresh cigars and plastic cups full of Macallan helped us unwind as we toasted the Best Day Ever from the parking lot before calling it a night. The sound of screaming diesel engines on I-10 lulled us to fitful unconsciousness, content with the knowledge that even better days lay straight ahead. 

More, I want more damit! Oh and thanks for taking us along ... 

that's great! sweet map.... 

Great story! MORE!!! 

Awesome report! Keep it coming. 

QUALITY ride report! 

The Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn. Getting there is half the fun!





After a harrowing mini-adventure down a slick gravel road, which again, half of the group enjoyed, Dark Meat Snack and I finally arrived as guests of Dean and Pam, proud founders of the Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn.

Good guests don't show up empty handed. And while it's debatable if our merry little band of miscreants can actually be considered 'good' guests, at least I didn't show up empty handed.



Before the trip started, I made Pam and Dean an unofficial proclamation claiming them as 'Honorary Subjects of the Kingdom of Rhode Island.'





The Bunkhouse is an amazing place. Dean, who built almost the entire thing himself, gave us the tour, filling us in on its fascinating history at the same time.


Dean and Pam - Two Fine Human Beings and Good Friends

















Dean and Pam bought this land sight unseen, and have turned it from some barren wilderness into a beautiful home. The entire compound is 'off the grid,' completely solar powered and completely self sufficient. 

We sat down to a feast of epic proportions, and as fast as the piles of food went down, the piles of bullshit grew. The four of us stayed up very late telling stories and laughing. The best part of the Bunkhouse? Without question, MZ Pam's killer pies!!!

I know we toast the Best Day Ever all the time, but, in my long history of motorcycling around the globe, this honestly was the absolute Best Day Ever!

Dark Meat Snack and I settled into the serenity of the Bunkhouse, and quickly fell fast asleep.

Or at least he did. The chainsaw-like snoring reverberating through the Bunkhouse kept me wide awake. Earplugs didn't help. Moving to the couch didn't help. More beer didn't help. I thought about putting a pillow over his head and pushing down until the snoring stopped, and was about to actually do it when, miraculously, the most annoying sound ever stopped on its own.

The next morning, before breakfast, Dean took us on a tour of the property, showing us examples of Mz Pam's amazing stone work.







During breakfast, or I should say another fantastic spread laid on by the lovely Mz. Pam, we watched The Weather Channel. Mother Nature's mood: Cantankerous. Reports of bad weather approaching the area gave the weather-heads fits of glee. We decided to leave before Ma Nature turned the gravel road into soup.



With some quick hugs and promises for a return, we posed for a group photo then headed back out on the road.



We made it back to the main road in hurry-up mode, wanting to stay ahead of the cold front. Happily, I switched on the iPod and settled in for a nice back road cruise through Arizona and into New Mexico.

Suddenly, I noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. The Dark Meat Snoring Wonder, normally filling my entire rear view mirror, was nowhere to be found. I pulled over and waited a few minutes for him to catch up. 

Nothing. 

Spider-sense tingling, I quickly turned around, fearing the worst. Dean had warned us about elk in the area, and I feared that a sneaky vegetarian elk might have sensed another vegetarian biker and jumped out in the road to greet him.

The problem wasn't quite that bad, but it was pretty bad. Somehow, Snowball's rear brake did its job a bit too well, locking up solid and making forward motion impossible.

Abi had already called Dean, who was on his way. Within seconds, as usually seems to happen when a motorcycle has a problem, someone pulled over to offer assistance. 

The guy's name was Bruce, a painter, musician and rider from nearby. He told us there was a Kawasaki dealership in town, and offered to unload his truck - currently full of manure - and help us take Snowball to the doctor's office.

Dean showed up a few minutes later with some tools. He brushed everyone aside, diagnosed the problem and almost immediately fixed it. 





I must confess I know more about quantum physics than I do about motorcycle mechanics. I know where the gas goes. I know how many tires there should be, and where they attach to the bike. I also know you're supposed to change the air in the tires once a week, but I only do it about once every month. What can I say, I'm lazy. Thankfully Dean knows as much about motorcycle mechanics as he does about home building. He came out, turned a wrench, and calamity instantly changed into a comedy.

Then, being the consummate gentleman, our new friend tested Snowball by making a few WFO passes.







And with that, we hit the road for real, heading southeast towards the Enchanted Land of New Mexico.







And we rolled just in the nick of time, because Mother Nature's mood changed from cantankerous to downright cranky in almost an instant. 

Mother Nature is one fickle woman. One minute her mood is all cheerful and sunny, the next it's cantankerous, almost blatantly cranky. 

The wind started picking up as we wound our way southeast down Route 180 towards New Mexico. First, the wind tried to blow me into the next lane, which was a fun adventure - for a while. However, being a bike-kite gets old pretty quick. Then, it got worse. The wind blew stronger, trying to blow my helmet and jacket off. Yeah, definitely a little less than fun now. We struggled to stay upright in the ferocious onslaught of Ma Nature. 


Blow... Blow... Blow the Man Down

She still wasn't done settling the score, so the wind speed picked up even more, trying to blow my bones right out of my skin. It was some of the hardest riding I've ever done.



Mother Nature wasn't just angry with us. Dean called and reported that two hours after we left, the temperature plummeted, the skies opened up and the Motorcyclist Cafe Barn and Bunkhouse was now covered with a nice, white blanket of snow.





On second though, the wind really wasn't so bad. And, as a bonus, the worst of Momma N's fury was short lived. I would say her mood once again swung, this time to Preoccupied, because the hurricane force winds calmed to occasionally gusty gales. Still exciting, but much less dangerous to ride in. At the time, there was no way to know that this wind was just a warm up for what was to come a few days later. 

Blissfully ignorant of what lay ahead, we cheered as another great detour presented itself, this time to the New Mexican ghost town of Mogollon. 


A few miles of single track, and Dark Meat DirtLover was once again rewarded with a special treat.



No cowboy greeted us at the entrance to this ghost town this time. There was no admission fee. There was nothing much at all, except for a few... residents? Some ghost town!







There were no ghosts to be found either, so after a few half-assed photos, we kept on rolling towards Wrestlemania.

Soon after, Abi reported that his rear brake went from mostly spongy to non-existant. Yeah, I know... who uses the rear brake... but still, with the computers and linked ABS in these modern marvels, we were afraid the computer would decide it was too dangerous to ride and shut the bike down. 

It was decision time. We pulled into a place called 'Gramma's' to get some of my favorite thinking food - apple pie. 

As I was getting off Rain Cloud Follows, an elderly woman, possibly Gramma herself approached, took a look at the bright red 'North Face' logo on my stuff bag, and exclaimed, "North Face! You boys from Alaska or sumptin?"

"No, Ma'am, but one of these days we're gonna ride up there."

"Well, she said with an expressive nod, "Just go and do it. Don't wait!"

Good advice.

Fortified with some apple pie brain fuel, our decision was made. The closest Kawasaki dealership was about a hundred miles away in Las Cruces. A hundred miles in a straight line, but rear brake or no, this trip is not about straight lines. Besides, one of the most beautiful and fun roads I have ever had the pleasure of scrubbing my tires on, NM Route 152,was just too close to pass up.

152 is such a fun, awesome, broad smiler of a road that I didn't even take a single picture. And for me, that's reallysaying something.

In solidarity with my rear brakeless brother, I didn't touch my pedal once on the entire slalom course. Fun!



The sun did what it always does at this time of day, perfectly timed with our second intersection with a straight line interstate highway. 

Mr. Erdon would be proud.

Las Cruces is one of those places, but then again, I guess every place is really one of 'those places.' We checked into a nondescript hotel near Las Cruces Motorsports, with a doctor's appointment for Snowball at 10 the next morning. 

Scanning the internet, we found this information on the possible cause of Snowball's rear brake failure:

Kawasaki is recalling 2008 Concours 14 motorcycles due to a problem with the rear brakes. Road debris may get trapped between the rear brake pedal and the rear master cylinder actuating arm, preventing the pedal from fully releasing. This could cause the rear brake to overheat and may lead to rear brake lock-up or failure.

The whole article, and a really nice picture of the Concours can be found here.

Satisfied that some gravel somewhere mucked up the stoppers of his bike, we set out to find something fun to do in Las Cruces. Margarita toasts, a little variation from the ever present Best Day Ever theme, went down far too smoothly.



By 11 AM the next day, Richard at Las Cruces Motorsports had Snowball back in rolling condition. 

And with two days (and one ride report) remaining until the dreaded Sunday crew call for the dreaded Wrestlemania setup, we were ready to roll the rest of the way to Houston.
 

Great pictures, fun story. Thanks for posting. 

More!!!!!1 

This post is quickly shaping up as my favorite ride report. 



He cried "Mo Mo Mo!!" 

Thanks everyone for your kind words and comments! 

The last installment of this portion of my silly little ride will be posted sometime on Monday or Tuesday - Wrestlemania is this Sunday and there's just too much setting up still to do to write it now... 

And of course, the best part - or at least the part I am most looking forward to - The Road Away From Wrestlemania will commence Wednesday. 

Ah... Texas. The home of Wrestlemania XXV. And, more importantly, the final state of our mini tour-de-force. Everything is bigger in Texas, from the pickup trucks to the buffets to the speed limits. 



It takes a huge map to cover such a huge state. A map so huge it almost completely covers Rain Cloud Follows.



On Wednesday, Sleeping Beauty arrived in San Antonio to hang out with her sister and family, and was eagerly awaiting our arrival. On the map, I-10 appeared to be a virtually straight line plummeting directly from El Paso to San Antonio.

I know she's waiting for me to get there, and we probably should hurry, but, interstate? Boooooring!

Route 90 also led to the home of the Alamo (remember that place?) and looked infinitely more interesting. Diing! We have a winner!

We made the briefest of stops on the Mexican-American border for a picture. It was brief because I was afraid drug lords would fire missiles or kidnap and behead me, because that is what television news has taught me happens when near Mexico.




The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side (Of The Border)

Route 90 is one of my favorite kinds of roads. Sweeping expanses of near nothingness bisected by a well maintained dual carriageway. The chances of a local LEO revenue-collecting agent on patrol are virtually nil. The chances of that confused old lady on her cell phone ricocheting her antique Caddy off a curb and into a motorcycle are also pretty low. Yeah, could possibly be a longhorn steer in the road, but overall, these lonely paths are among my favorites.



On these back roads, it's easy to drift off into thought, start to daydream, ponder the meaning of life, listen to the voices echoing in my head, and try and figure out where it all went wrong. Deep in a world of my own, I sped past... something... weird.

For a moment I was certain it was another hallucination, but, no. There it was in the rear view mirror. The weirdness of the something I passed, now confirmed to really exist, suddenly snapped me out of my revery, so I quickly signaled Dark Meat for a U-turn. Out in the absolute middle of absolute nowhere, with miles and miles of desolate nothingness surrounding us was this:


Prada. In Marfa?





A small plaque informed us that this was not an actual store, but an art project sponsored by local drug addicts, err... I mean... communities. Strange, but even that fact wasn't the strangest thing about it. The strangest thing of all? For some unknown reason, Dark Meat Snack knew the handbags in the art project were from the Fall 2005 Prada collection!



Back on the road, I started slipping back into my semi-trance, until another weird attraction attracted my attention. 





I called a reliable resource - Unleaded, a proud member of the United States Air Force to ask about this abnormal blimp looking thing. 

His response was typically cryptic. "Dude, I don't know. No idea. None. We have weird shit all over the place."

I know he knows, but if he tells me, he'd probably have to kill me.

And the oddness of Route 90 continued. No more daydreaming, I was actively looking for the next sight to behold. It wasn't a long wait.


The Marfa Mystery Light Observatory

What appears to just be a rest room is actually much more. A large platform in back allows people to watch for some 'mysterious' lights. Legend has it that on a clear night, the mystery lights 'appear, move about, split apart, melt together, disappear and reappear.' 

Personally, I think most nights there's probably a guy in the men's room selling hits of brown acid, though he wasn't there when we were. Thus, sadly, no mystery lights for us.

After this ocular feast, Route 90 calmed down. We rode through the barren landscape until it was time to start looking for a place to sleep. In the middle of nowhere, finding anything; gas, cell service, motels, even brown acid is difficult. Almost by default, the Budget Inn in Sanderson, TX became our home for the night.



Abi went to the office, and spoke Hindi, the international language of low budget hotels with the startled owner. Guess there isn't much of a Hindi speaking population in Sanderson. The results of his efforts? He netted us $6 off the room! महान सफलता!!

Sanderson is more of a ghost town than Mogollon was. 







After a forgettable dinner at the Dairy King, we ended the night hanging out with some officers from the Texas Game Commission, also staying at the Budget Inn. Loaded with huge pickup trucks, rugged looking ATVs, big guns and bullet proof vests, they looked pretty well equipped for any kind of 'game.' I asked what game they were in Sanderson to play. "Mostly catching illegals, drug smugglers, looking for drug money. That kind of thing." Fun game. 

The next day the scenery remained the same, with the added excitement of Border Patrol vehicles zipping around. I stopped counting at thirty-five trucks in twenty minutes. We had to stop for some traffic at a very strict US Department of Homeland Security checkpoint. The guard, a serious looking man dressed in quasi-army fatigues waved me over.

"Sir, are you an American citizen?"

"Yes."

"OK." He waved me through.

Tax dollars hard at work.


Bridge Over The River Pecos

In the wild, you eat lunch when you can. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. Jim Holly's Place became my latest culinary investigation.



The stylish decor and innovative use of porcelain in front that greet customers impressed me.



The innovative re-purposing of a used paper lunch sack for a menu was also a distinct touch of class.





And the food? Surprisingly good too!

Turning inland, civilization started creeping back. Red lights. McDonalds. Traffic. Sprawl. Confused old ladies on cell phones in antique Caddies. We were back. 

And a few hours later, we were in San Antonio, and I was finally reunited with my beautiful Sleeping Beauty.

That reunion was short lived, however, as Fiona had to fly home to work the next morning, and Dark Meat Snack and I had to complete our mission - finding the end to The Road to Wrestlemania. 

With Fiona safely on her way home, Dark Meat and I packed up our junk for the last time on this leg of our journey, took a picture with Fiona's sister and beautiful family, then slogged our way four hours east to our final destination - Houston.


Fiona's Sister Denise and Family

The end of a ride, any ride, is always miserable. And knowing what lay in store from us in the coming days didn't help at all. This particular Wrestlemania, number XXV, is my XIth time working the show. I know from past experience that a week of complete, utter and absolute chaos is just around the corner.

We made our way from one set of friends house to another, rolling along Route 290 from San Antonio to Houston. My friend Pat, another of the WWE audio crew, just happens to live in the same city that Wrestlemania is in, so we stopped by to drop off some extra gear with him.


Pat and Family

And with that last, symbolic gesture (leaving my dirty clothes in Pat's garage) the Road to Wrestlemania was officially over. Time to get to work.

This is where it starts to get weird. 

Leaving Pat's house, Abi and I rode directly to Houston Intercontinental Airport and parked in the Green 10 section of the C Concourse garage. Although Wrestlemania is being held in Houston, TX, before we get to have all that fun, we have to fly to New York and set up for a Wrestlemania press conference at the Hard Rock Cafe. Of course.




Hard Rock Press Conference - Audio Room - NCP 7 Mobile Unit

After two days of working (and washing my fried liver) in NY, it was straight back to Houston's other airport - Hobby. Houston is so big it has two airports! For comparison, the entire Kingdom of Rhode Island only has one. And unlucky for us, when we landed, we realized the motorcycles were parked 45 miles away at Concourse C Green 10 section of the other airport - Intercontinental. 

Of course. Wrestlemania is one problem after another. An $80 cab ride solved our current problem.

Then, it was time to set up for the big show. The scale of Wrestlemania is so much larger than what we normally do, everything is magnified by a factor of ten. 72,000 people were expected to attend, as opposed to our normal average of 14,000. As I said, everything is bigger in Texas.













Dark Meat Snack and I set up for two days, then had to leave for the Toyota Center. Every year we end up working the 'smaller' show, the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony on Saturday. 

Smaller, but still complex.


Hall of Fame - Audio Room - Denali Silver Mobile Unit

The Hall of Fame setup was a nightmare, but the show was a success. Completing that broadcast, it was straight back to the Wrestlemania venue for final checks and tests before the big day.

It may look like all work and no play, but somehow we manage to find a little time each day for some fun.





With enough begging, a little time can also be found for a clandestine photo shoot.



Suddenly, it was show time. 72,744 fans, eagerly anticipating the show we spent the past week building, perched at the edge of their seats. As they always do, adrenaline levels increase during those final moments before a live broadcast. The producer starts the final sequence. "Tonight's a good night to have a good night everyone. Black the house." House lights fade, and the crowd erupts. The sequence continues. "Five - Four - Three - Two - One. Roll and track Z and put it on the Tron."

With that simple command, Wrestlemania XXV officially was underway.













People cheered. Kid Rock rocked. Wrestling happened. Everything we spent so long setting up, testing, moving, changing, re-testing and re-checking worked flawlessly. 

In other words, it was a good night.

Four hours later, that good night ended. It was time to put away our toys and move on. 

And the very next day, the Road Away From Wrestlemania began.


TO BE CONTINUED...

I am thoroughly looking forward to the next chapter of this story... you spin quite the yarn... excitement, stories, humor, visuals AND wrestling?!? You've got it all covered!!  

P.S. Are Dean and Mz Pam adopting? 

  WOW !! Great stuff Frenchy 

Most excellent tale! Can't wait for the next installment. Think Lifetime Network will make it into a major motion picture?? 

HA! If only...

I've often said that if they did a 'behind the scenes' reality show following what really goes into the making of a WWE show, it would get better ratings than RAW does! 

Great report. From my years of working behind the scenes in theater and music shows, I have to agree with you on this. 

That was a GREAT ride report! Thanks for sharing! 

The shortest distance between two points is a straight line, or at least that's what Mr. Erdon taught us in eighth grade geometry class. What Mr. Erdon failed to tell us is that the straightest line, while fastest, is usually the least interesting path. It took me a lot of motorcycling trial and error to figure this important fact out.

By way of a little background, my steadfast riding buddy Abi, better known as Dark Meat Snack and I have worked as audio engineers for World Wrestling Entertainment for most of the past decade. Every single week of the year finds us traveling somewhere on the planet, bringing all the glorious sounds of Sports Entertainment - the grunts, groans, chair shots and screams - to our mass of wrestling fans. 

An unintended benefit of all this travel is, if the show is within a reasonable distance, Dark Meat Snack and I can commute to work on Rain Cloud Follows and Snowball, our trusty, well traveled motorcycles.



Wrestlemania is World Wrestling Entertainment's Super Bowl. The show, attended by a crowd of over 70,000 fans, and watched by millions on Pay Per View is the culmination of a year's worth of story lines. This year's extravaganza, the twenty-fifth anniversary of the show that started it all is being held at the Reliant Stadium in Houston.

As soon as Houston was announced as the home of the twenty-fifth anniversary of Wrestlemania, the wheels of my little mental Habitrail started spinning. In a straight line, Houston is only fifteen-hundred or so miles from my adopted home in California. A few months ago, Dark Meat Snack and I sat down in a dark bar somewhere, and over a few frothy pints of Guinness, plotted out our latest scheme.


The Road To Wrestlemania Map-kin.

With hard-won straight-line-is-boring knowledge in mind during the 'Road to Wrestlemania Map-kin Route Planning Phase' we improvised an interesting route from California to Houston that avoided straight lines like I avoid proctologist visits.

Coming up with some mildly creative travel options to leave the show the week before our little trip, we realized we could easily get on the road on Tuesday afternoon, giving us almost six days to ride the Road to Wrestlemania. With that, and a huge bar tab, the plan was nearly complete.

My beautiful girlfriend Fiona, a.k.a Sleeping Beauty decided to sit this leg of the trip out. We're pretty sure she contracted the dreaded Black Death strain of the bubonic plague during our recent ride to Death Valley. 



She decided instead of riding in the chilly spring air again, the best remedy for her cold would be to fly to her sister's house in sunny San Antonio, where we would meet her on the way to Houston.

And with that final piece of the puzzle in place, everything was set. Time took on that slow, slippery quality it always does when something great and fun is right around the corner. Finally, The 'Big Day' arrived, though Delta Airlines did their best to ruin it. After a nice, lengthy, not-at-all-frustrating runway delay, the Airbus flight computer got over its case of the hiccups, and by two PM, Dark Meat Snack and I loaded up and were finally rolling down the road to Houston.





First stop? Joshua Tree National Park, perfectly disrupting Mr. Erdon's straight line theory. I usually try to have some sort of theme idea on a ride, be it National Parks or lighthouses or whatever; though often times the real theme will just naturally evolve. The first evolving theme of this ride quickly became 'How Many Miles Can We Add?' The Joshua Tree detour added quite a few, but the scenery and road were well worth it.








I Need To Wash My Fried Liver!!!

From Joshua Tree National Park, we put the hammer down and sped through about half of the approximately two hundred boring, straight-line highway miles necessary for this ride. 



The craptastic Super 8 in Quartzsite, AZ became our first home away from home. Fresh cigars and plastic cups full of Macallan helped us unwind as we toasted the Best Day Ever from the parking lot before calling it a night. The sound of screaming diesel engines on I-10 lulled us to fitful unconsciousness, content with the knowledge that even better days lay straight ahead. 

More, I want more damit! Oh and thanks for taking us along ... 

that's great! sweet map.... 

Great story! MORE!!! 

Awesome report! Keep it coming. 

QUALITY ride report! 

The Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn. Getting there is half the fun!





After a harrowing mini-adventure down a slick gravel road, which again, half of the group enjoyed, Dark Meat Snack and I finally arrived as guests of Dean and Pam, proud founders of the Motorcyclist Cafe Bunkhouse and Barn.

Good guests don't show up empty handed. And while it's debatable if our merry little band of miscreants can actually be considered 'good' guests, at least I didn't show up empty handed.



Before the trip started, I made Pam and Dean an unofficial proclamation claiming them as 'Honorary Subjects of the Kingdom of Rhode Island.'





The Bunkhouse is an amazing place. Dean, who built almost the entire thing himself, gave us the tour, filling us in on its fascinating history at the same time.


Dean and Pam - Two Fine Human Beings and Good Friends

















Dean and Pam bought this land sight unseen, and have turned it from some barren wilderness into a beautiful home. The entire compound is 'off the grid,' completely solar powered and completely self sufficient. 

We sat down to a feast of epic proportions, and as fast as the piles of food went down, the piles of bullshit grew. The four of us stayed up very late telling stories and laughing. The best part of the Bunkhouse? Without question, MZ Pam's killer pies!!!

I know we toast the Best Day Ever all the time, but, in my long history of motorcycling around the globe, this honestly was the absolute Best Day Ever!

Dark Meat Snack and I settled into the serenity of the Bunkhouse, and quickly fell fast asleep.

Or at least he did. The chainsaw-like snoring reverberating through the Bunkhouse kept me wide awake. Earplugs didn't help. Moving to the couch didn't help. More beer didn't help. I thought about putting a pillow over his head and pushing down until the snoring stopped, and was about to actually do it when, miraculously, the most annoying sound ever stopped on its own.

The next morning, before breakfast, Dean took us on a tour of the property, showing us examples of Mz Pam's amazing stone work.







During breakfast, or I should say another fantastic spread laid on by the lovely Mz. Pam, we watched The Weather Channel. Mother Nature's mood: Cantankerous. Reports of bad weather approaching the area gave the weather-heads fits of glee. We decided to leave before Ma Nature turned the gravel road into soup.



With some quick hugs and promises for a return, we posed for a group photo then headed back out on the road.



We made it back to the main road in hurry-up mode, wanting to stay ahead of the cold front. Happily, I switched on the iPod and settled in for a nice back road cruise through Arizona and into New Mexico.

Suddenly, I noticed something was wrong. Very wrong. The Dark Meat Snoring Wonder, normally filling my entire rear view mirror, was nowhere to be found. I pulled over and waited a few minutes for him to catch up. 

Nothing. 

Spider-sense tingling, I quickly turned around, fearing the worst. Dean had warned us about elk in the area, and I feared that a sneaky vegetarian elk might have sensed another vegetarian biker and jumped out in the road to greet him.

The problem wasn't quite that bad, but it was pretty bad. Somehow, Snowball's rear brake did its job a bit too well, locking up solid and making forward motion impossible.

Abi had already called Dean, who was on his way. Within seconds, as usually seems to happen when a motorcycle has a problem, someone pulled over to offer assistance. 

The guy's name was Bruce, a painter, musician and rider from nearby. He told us there was a Kawasaki dealership in town, and offered to unload his truck - currently full of manure - and help us take Snowball to the doctor's office.

Dean showed up a few minutes later with some tools. He brushed everyone aside, diagnosed the problem and almost immediately fixed it. 





I must confess I know more about quantum physics than I do about motorcycle mechanics. I know where the gas goes. I know how many tires there should be, and where they attach to the bike. I also know you're supposed to change the air in the tires once a week, but I only do it about once every month. What can I say, I'm lazy. Thankfully Dean knows as much about motorcycle mechanics as he does about home building. He came out, turned a wrench, and calamity instantly changed into a comedy.

Then, being the consummate gentleman, our new friend tested Snowball by making a few WFO passes.







And with that, we hit the road for real, heading southeast towards the Enchanted Land of New Mexico.







And we rolled just in the nick of time, because Mother Nature's mood changed from cantankerous to downright cranky in almost an instant. 

Mother Nature is one fickle woman. One minute her mood is all cheerful and sunny, the next it's cantankerous, almost blatantly cranky. 

The wind started picking up as we wound our way southeast down Route 180 towards New Mexico. First, the wind tried to blow me into the next lane, which was a fun adventure - for a while. However, being a bike-kite gets old pretty quick. Then, it got worse. The wind blew stronger, trying to blow my helmet and jacket off. Yeah, definitely a little less than fun now. We struggled to stay upright in the ferocious onslaught of Ma Nature. 


Blow... Blow... Blow the Man Down

She still wasn't done settling the score, so the wind speed picked up even more, trying to blow my bones right out of my skin. It was some of the hardest riding I've ever done.



Mother Nature wasn't just angry with us. Dean called and reported that two hours after we left, the temperature plummeted, the skies opened up and the Motorcyclist Cafe Barn and Bunkhouse was now covered with a nice, white blanket of snow.





On second though, the wind really wasn't so bad. And, as a bonus, the worst of Momma N's fury was short lived. I would say her mood once again swung, this time to Preoccupied, because the hurricane force winds calmed to occasionally gusty gales. Still exciting, but much less dangerous to ride in. At the time, there was no way to know that this wind was just a warm up for what was to come a few days later. 

Blissfully ignorant of what lay ahead, we cheered as another great detour presented itself, this time to the New Mexican ghost town of Mogollon. 


A few miles of single track, and Dark Meat DirtLover was once again rewarded with a special treat.



No cowboy greeted us at the entrance to this ghost town this time. There was no admission fee. There was nothing much at all, except for a few... residents? Some ghost town!







There were no ghosts to be found either, so after a few half-assed photos, we kept on rolling towards Wrestlemania.

Soon after, Abi reported that his rear brake went from mostly spongy to non-existant. Yeah, I know... who uses the rear brake... but still, with the computers and linked ABS in these modern marvels, we were afraid the computer would decide it was too dangerous to ride and shut the bike down. 

It was decision time. We pulled into a place called 'Gramma's' to get some of my favorite thinking food - apple pie. 

As I was getting off Rain Cloud Follows, an elderly woman, possibly Gramma herself approached, took a look at the bright red 'North Face' logo on my stuff bag, and exclaimed, "North Face! You boys from Alaska or sumptin?"

"No, Ma'am, but one of these days we're gonna ride up there."

"Well, she said with an expressive nod, "Just go and do it. Don't wait!"

Good advice.

Fortified with some apple pie brain fuel, our decision was made. The closest Kawasaki dealership was about a hundred miles away in Las Cruces. A hundred miles in a straight line, but rear brake or no, this trip is not about straight lines. Besides, one of the most beautiful and fun roads I have ever had the pleasure of scrubbing my tires on, NM Route 152,was just too close to pass up.

152 is such a fun, awesome, broad smiler of a road that I didn't even take a single picture. And for me, that's reallysaying something.

In solidarity with my rear brakeless brother, I didn't touch my pedal once on the entire slalom course. Fun!



The sun did what it always does at this time of day, perfectly timed with our second intersection with a straight line interstate highway. 

Mr. Erdon would be proud.

Las Cruces is one of those places, but then again, I guess every place is really one of 'those places.' We checked into a nondescript hotel near Las Cruces Motorsports, with a doctor's appointment for Snowball at 10 the next morning. 

Scanning the internet, we found this information on the possible cause of Snowball's rear brake failure:

Kawasaki is recalling 2008 Concours 14 motorcycles due to a problem with the rear brakes. Road debris may get trapped between the rear brake pedal and the rear master cylinder actuating arm, preventing the pedal from fully releasing. This could cause the rear brake to overheat and may lead to rear brake lock-up or failure.

The whole article, and a really nice picture of the Concours can be found here.

Satisfied that some gravel somewhere mucked up the stoppers of his bike, we set out to find something fun to do in Las Cruces. Margarita toasts, a little variation from the ever present Best Day Ever theme, went down far too smoothly.



By 11 AM the next day, Richard at Las Cruces Motorsports had Snowball back in rolling condition. 

And with two days (and one ride report) remaining until the dreaded Sunday crew call for the dreaded Wrestlemania setup, we were ready to roll the rest of the way to Houston.
 

Great pictures, fun story. Thanks for posting. 

More!!!!!1 

This post is quickly shaping up as my favorite ride report. 



He cried "Mo Mo Mo!!" 

Thanks everyone for your kind words and comments! 

The last installment of this portion of my silly little ride will be posted sometime on Monday or Tuesday - Wrestlemania is this Sunday and there's just too much setting up still to do to write it now... 

And of course, the best part - or at least the part I am most looking forward to - The Road Away From Wrestlemania will commence Wednesday. 

Ah... Texas. The home of Wrestlemania XXV. And, more importantly, the final state of our mini tour-de-force. Everything is bigger in Texas, from the pickup trucks to the buffets to the speed limits. 



It takes a huge map to cover such a huge state. A map so huge it almost completely covers Rain Cloud Follows.



On Wednesday, Sleeping Beauty arrived in San Antonio to hang out with her sister and family, and was eagerly awaiting our arrival. On the map, I-10 appeared to be a virtually straight line plummeting directly from El Paso to San Antonio.

I know she's waiting for me to get there, and we probably should hurry, but, interstate? Boooooring!

Route 90 also led to the home of the Alamo (remember that place?) and looked infinitely more interesting. Diing! We have a winner!

We made the briefest of stops on the Mexican-American border for a picture. It was brief because I was afraid drug lords would fire missiles or kidnap and behead me, because that is what television news has taught me happens when near Mexico.




The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side (Of The Border)

Route 90 is one of my favorite kinds of roads. Sweeping expanses of near nothingness bisected by a well maintained dual carriageway. The chances of a local LEO revenue-collecting agent on patrol are virtually nil. The chances of that confused old lady on her cell phone ricocheting her antique Caddy off a curb and into a motorcycle are also pretty low. Yeah, could possibly be a longhorn steer in the road, but overall, these lonely paths are among my favorites.



On these back roads, it's easy to drift off into thought, start to daydream, ponder the meaning of life, listen to the voices echoing in my head, and try and figure out where it all went wrong. Deep in a world of my own, I sped past... something... weird.

For a moment I was certain it was another hallucination, but, no. There it was in the rear view mirror. The weirdness of the something I passed, now confirmed to really exist, suddenly snapped me out of my revery, so I quickly signaled Dark Meat for a U-turn. Out in the absolute middle of absolute nowhere, with miles and miles of desolate nothingness surrounding us was this:


Prada. In Marfa?





A small plaque informed us that this was not an actual store, but an art project sponsored by local drug addicts, err... I mean... communities. Strange, but even that fact wasn't the strangest thing about it. The strangest thing of all? For some unknown reason, Dark Meat Snack knew the handbags in the art project were from the Fall 2005 Prada collection!



Back on the road, I started slipping back into my semi-trance, until another weird attraction attracted my attention. 





I called a reliable resource - Unleaded, a proud member of the United States Air Force to ask about this abnormal blimp looking thing. 

His response was typically cryptic. "Dude, I don't know. No idea. None. We have weird shit all over the place."

I know he knows, but if he tells me, he'd probably have to kill me.

And the oddness of Route 90 continued. No more daydreaming, I was actively looking for the next sight to behold. It wasn't a long wait.


The Marfa Mystery Light Observatory

What appears to just be a rest room is actually much more. A large platform in back allows people to watch for some 'mysterious' lights. Legend has it that on a clear night, the mystery lights 'appear, move about, split apart, melt together, disappear and reappear.' 

Personally, I think most nights there's probably a guy in the men's room selling hits of brown acid, though he wasn't there when we were. Thus, sadly, no mystery lights for us.

After this ocular feast, Route 90 calmed down. We rode through the barren landscape until it was time to start looking for a place to sleep. In the middle of nowhere, finding anything; gas, cell service, motels, even brown acid is difficult. Almost by default, the Budget Inn in Sanderson, TX became our home for the night.



Abi went to the office, and spoke Hindi, the international language of low budget hotels with the startled owner. Guess there isn't much of a Hindi speaking population in Sanderson. The results of his efforts? He netted us $6 off the room! महान सफलता!!

Sanderson is more of a ghost town than Mogollon was. 







After a forgettable dinner at the Dairy King, we ended the night hanging out with some officers from the Texas Game Commission, also staying at the Budget Inn. Loaded with huge pickup trucks, rugged looking ATVs, big guns and bullet proof vests, they looked pretty well equipped for any kind of 'game.' I asked what game they were in Sanderson to play. "Mostly catching illegals, drug smugglers, looking for drug money. That kind of thing." Fun game. 

The next day the scenery remained the same, with the added excitement of Border Patrol vehicles zipping around. I stopped counting at thirty-five trucks in twenty minutes. We had to stop for some traffic at a very strict US Department of Homeland Security checkpoint. The guard, a serious looking man dressed in quasi-army fatigues waved me over.

"Sir, are you an American citizen?"

"Yes."

"OK." He waved me through.

Tax dollars hard at work.


Bridge Over The River Pecos

In the wild, you eat lunch when you can. Beggars can't be choosers and all that. Jim Holly's Place became my latest culinary investigation.



The stylish decor and innovative use of porcelain in front that greet customers impressed me.



The innovative re-purposing of a used paper lunch sack for a menu was also a distinct touch of class.





And the food? Surprisingly good too!

Turning inland, civilization started creeping back. Red lights. McDonalds. Traffic. Sprawl. Confused old ladies on cell phones in antique Caddies. We were back. 

And a few hours later, we were in San Antonio, and I was finally reunited with my beautiful Sleeping Beauty.

That reunion was short lived, however, as Fiona had to fly home to work the next morning, and Dark Meat Snack and I had to complete our mission - finding the end to The Road to Wrestlemania. 

With Fiona safely on her way home, Dark Meat and I packed up our junk for the last time on this leg of our journey, took a picture with Fiona's sister and beautiful family, then slogged our way four hours east to our final destination - Houston.


Fiona's Sister Denise and Family

The end of a ride, any ride, is always miserable. And knowing what lay in store from us in the coming days didn't help at all. This particular Wrestlemania, number XXV, is my XIth time working the show. I know from past experience that a week of complete, utter and absolute chaos is just around the corner.

We made our way from one set of friends house to another, rolling along Route 290 from San Antonio to Houston. My friend Pat, another of the WWE audio crew, just happens to live in the same city that Wrestlemania is in, so we stopped by to drop off some extra gear with him.


Pat and Family

And with that last, symbolic gesture (leaving my dirty clothes in Pat's garage) the Road to Wrestlemania was officially over. Time to get to work.

This is where it starts to get weird. 

Leaving Pat's house, Abi and I rode directly to Houston Intercontinental Airport and parked in the Green 10 section of the C Concourse garage. Although Wrestlemania is being held in Houston, TX, before we get to have all that fun, we have to fly to New York and set up for a Wrestlemania press conference at the Hard Rock Cafe. Of course.




Hard Rock Press Conference - Audio Room - NCP 7 Mobile Unit

After two days of working (and washing my fried liver) in NY, it was straight back to Houston's other airport - Hobby. Houston is so big it has two airports! For comparison, the entire Kingdom of Rhode Island only has one. And unlucky for us, when we landed, we realized the motorcycles were parked 45 miles away at Concourse C Green 10 section of the other airport - Intercontinental. 

Of course. Wrestlemania is one problem after another. An $80 cab ride solved our current problem.

Then, it was time to set up for the big show. The scale of Wrestlemania is so much larger than what we normally do, everything is magnified by a factor of ten. 72,000 people were expected to attend, as opposed to our normal average of 14,000. As I said, everything is bigger in Texas.













Dark Meat Snack and I set up for two days, then had to leave for the Toyota Center. Every year we end up working the 'smaller' show, the WWE Hall of Fame ceremony on Saturday. 

Smaller, but still complex.


Hall of Fame - Audio Room - Denali Silver Mobile Unit

The Hall of Fame setup was a nightmare, but the show was a success. Completing that broadcast, it was straight back to the Wrestlemania venue for final checks and tests before the big day.

It may look like all work and no play, but somehow we manage to find a little time each day for some fun.





With enough begging, a little time can also be found for a clandestine photo shoot.



Suddenly, it was show time. 72,744 fans, eagerly anticipating the show we spent the past week building, perched at the edge of their seats. As they always do, adrenaline levels increase during those final moments before a live broadcast. The producer starts the final sequence. "Tonight's a good night to have a good night everyone. Black the house." House lights fade, and the crowd erupts. The sequence continues. "Five - Four - Three - Two - One. Roll and track Z and put it on the Tron."

With that simple command, Wrestlemania XXV officially was underway.













People cheered. Kid Rock rocked. Wrestling happened. Everything we spent so long setting up, testing, moving, changing, re-testing and re-checking worked flawlessly. 

In other words, it was a good night.

Four hours later, that good night ended. It was time to put away our toys and move on. 

And the very next day, the Road Away From Wrestlemania began.


TO BE CONTINUED...

I am thoroughly looking forward to the next chapter of this story... you spin quite the yarn... excitement, stories, humor, visuals AND wrestling?!? You've got it all covered!!  

P.S. Are Dean and Mz Pam adopting? 

  WOW !! Great stuff Frenchy 

Most excellent tale! Can't wait for the next installment. Think Lifetime Network will make it into a major motion picture?? 

HA! If only...

I've often said that if they did a 'behind the scenes' reality show following what really goes into the making of a WWE show, it would get better ratings than RAW does! 

Great report. From my years of working behind the scenes in theater and music shows, I have to agree with you on this. 

That was a GREAT ride report! Thanks for sharing!