Great Scott!

Just when I thought I was getting’ the hang of this motorcycle lingo, whoops! Up `till this last weekend, I thought that “tourmeister” was German for ‘leader of the tour’ or some such. Now, I know that, when applied to Mike Moon, it means ‘Pied Piper.’

Ol’ Lloyd called me last week and asked, “Hey Bob! Wanna go get a burger Sunday?”

So, Sunday morning found us meeting at the Braums on I-35 North of Fort Worth for a cup of coffee before up 287 towards Lawton, Oklahoma and Mt. Scott. The cool weather and patchy fog convinced us to make another coffee stop in Bowie before making a hard run to Lawton.

After gassin’ up in Cache, we rode into the Wichita Mountains Wildlife Refuge. The sign said not to approach the Bison or Longhorns as they tend to be moody at times. Now, I’m not sure I’d approach one of those brutish-looking Buffalo in my car, but I can tell you that ridin’ by `em, felt at least as vulnerable as ridin’ in Dallass traffic. Fortunately, the Buffalo didn’t have cell phones and paid an appropriate amount of attention to the task at hand… grazing.

As we climbed the breathtaking switchbacks to the top of Mt. Scott, the sometimes drab Oklahoma scenery opened like God’s own Diorama below us.

At the top we found upwards of two-dozen bikes and half again as many riders kickin’ tires, swappin’ lies and taking surreptitious glances at odometers.

After the photo session, we saddled up for the ride to lunch. While doffing my riding gear, I marveled at the collection of bikes. There were a preponderance of BMWs, airheads, oilheads and a variety of those funny car-engined ones. In addition, there were a smattering of Harleys and Harley clones as well as a Honda Barcolounger. Shoot, there was even an R27 masquerading as a Harley by ridin’ in the back of a pickup.

After lunch, we split into groups based on destination and trooper tolerance. The first few miles South on I-44 were under construction, limited to one lane each way. Looking at the construction zone speed limit signs, I now know where Texas A&M Civil Engineering students end up when they flunk out. Well, how else do explain signs posting the limit as 42 MPH!

It was still sorta cool so Lloyd and I wicked it up headin’ back down to Bowie. A short gas stop there then back on 287 and headed to the house.

Home by quarter-of-six with a glass of Jack in hand, while Anna asks about the ride. She’s amazed. 449 miles to meet on the top of some mountain most never heard of then get a burger no better nor worse than what’s available locally.

She wonders why we did it.

I tell her the Pied Piper was callin’...