Radar, $53,000 and Bigfoot

Well, as most of you are painfully aware, the Sandies have had themselves a rather adventurous month of Riding Adventures. We’ve ridden through weather, ridden through questionable decisions, and generally demonstrated that there are still a few things in life we have not yet learned to leave well enough alone.

I’d like to tell you this weekend was just as adventurous.

It wasn’t.

This weekend, the Sandies apparently decided to check the “enjoy” box.

And there ain’t a thing wrong with that.

First, the knitting:

135 miles. 10 Sandies.

Now, if you’re wondering how knitting got involved in a motorcycle ride, I’m not entirely sure myself. With the Sandies, I’ve learned it is sometimes better not to ask too many questions. Just smile, nod your head, and make sure you know where your motorcycle is parked.

Now, if you count lunch at a place called Bigfoot’s Buffet as a little unusual, well, okay.

I’ll give you that.

Our original destination was the Roadkill Café in Elberta, Alabama.

Yes.

That is actually the name.

And they are famous for their fried chicken.

Which, when you think about it, is a rather bold culinary decision for a restaurant named Roadkill Café. But apparently they know what they’re doing because folks keep showing up.

We were going to give them our business.

But alas, it was not to be.

We rolled the bikes out of the garage and almost immediately the sky decided it had other plans.

It poured.

Not a gentle Southern shower where you stand under the carport drinking sweet tea saying, “It’ll pass.”

No sir.

This was rain with a mission.

We checked around and discovered pretty much everybody else was getting the same treatment. So, being experienced riders with excellent survival instincts, we made the only sensible decision:

Unfortunately, the Roadkill Café closes at 12:30, and apparently they don’t stay open just in case a bunch of motorcycle-riding Sandies happen to be delayed by the wrath of the weather gods.

So we needed another destination.

That’s when somebody mentioned Bigfoot’s Buffet.

It was discussed.

It was considered.

And eventually it was agreed upon.

Because nothing brings a group of hungry motorcycle riders together quite like the promise of a buffet.

Now, at the meeting place, three enterprising Sandies actually showed up:

Greg L, Misty, and JoeJoe.

Much like children on Christmas morning, they had that special look in their eyes.

Only they weren’t dreaming about bicycles, toys, or video games.

They were thinking about food.

Then they found out we had postponed the departure time by a few hours.

Did they go home?

Not a chance.

They went and ate breakfast.

Because apparently there is no such thing as eating too early when there is another meal somewhere down the road.

These folks do not miss an opportunity to eat.

And frankly, I admire the dedication.

When we finally arrived at the appointed hour, our three Sandies had the satisfied look of bears who had just discovered a picnic table somebody forgot to guard.

They were calm.

They were content.

They were fed.

And for the moment, nobody was looking at me like I was personally responsible for delaying lunch.

Then came the surprise.

Tommy was driving Sandy’s Yellow Zonkers Slingshot, with Sandy occupying the pillion-warmers spot.

Now, that alone was enough to make the trip interesting.

For those who may not know, Bigfoot’s Buffet is about 58 miles by the normal route.

But this was not a normal route.

This was a Sandie Route.

And anybody who has ever been on a Sandie Route knows that 58 miles can become 75 miles without anybody having the slightest idea how it happened.

We headed through the Blackwater Forest, taking advantage of all those beautiful canopy roads.

The weather had at least decided to show a little mercy.

It was overcast, which meant the sun wasn’t beating down on us like it had been doing lately.

For once, Mother Nature seemed to be saying:

“Fine. Go ahead. I’ll give you a break.”

Of course, we should have known better than to trust her.

This seems like a good place to bring up a rather strange phenomenon.

JoeJoe has a brand-new Harley CVO.

Top of the line.

About $53,000 and change.

And this motorcycle is loaded with just about everything imaginable.

And a few things that boggle the mind.

JoeJoe is a retired weather person, so naturally he keeps up with the ever-changing weather here in the Florida Panhandle.

And when I say he keeps up with the weather, I mean JoeJoe keeps up with the weather.

He has subscriptions to weather services.

He has radar.

He has radar on the motorcycle.

I suspect if we gave him another five minutes, he could probably tell us what the weather is doing in Nebraska.

The new Harley does have one little glitch that JoeJoe is working diligently to solve.

His best radar only works when JoeJoe is parked in his driveway.

Now, admittedly, that is not exactly ideal for travel prognostications.

A weather radar that performs its finest work while the motorcycle is sitting beside the garage is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

JoeJoe does have other radar services, but they leave just a little something to be desired.

Like on this particular trip.

Joe announces:

“Rain to our west, but it’s not a factor.”

And right about the time those words leave his mouth, the sky directly over us opens up and turns on the faucet.

Apparently, the Road Gods had been standing over their celestial sink just waiting for somebody to say something.

This is why we call these things Sandie work in progress.

You can have a $53,000 motorcycle.

You can have subscriptions to weather services.

You can have radar on the bike.

But you still can’t control Florida weather.

And apparently, you shouldn’t tempt it by saying it’s “not a factor.”

Mark and Lorna were also with us on this trip.

Now, Lorna takes world-class pictures on their travels around this little rock we call home.

And when I say world-class, I mean it.

Lorna has taken some spectacular photographs on their trips, including pictures from their trip to the Philippines that are absolutely outstanding.

She has a way of catching those places and moments that makes you stop and think, “Well, maybe I ought to get out of the garage once in a while.”

Of course, then you remember the weather forecast and decide the garage isn’t so bad after all.

Eventually, we arrived at Bigfoot’s Buffet, located just south of the Florida line.

And I have to say, it was worth the ride.

They have a great selection of food and some fantastic homemade desserts.

And they have a reasonable senior price, too.

Now, when you hear “senior price,” some folks might take offense.

Not the Sandies.

We consider it a reward for having survived long enough to qualify.

And let me tell you something else.

When you get a group of Sandies sitting around a table together, you need to be careful what you say.

Because somewhere in that group is Tommy.

And Tommy is the pit viper of dry humor.

He doesn’t necessarily strike immediately.

He waits.

He listens.

He watches for the unsuspecting Sandie to say something that can be twisted into a perfectly timed comeback.

And then—

Tommy comes back with one of those dry, perfectly delivered responses that leaves you sitting there wondering how you walked directly into it.

His comebacks are hilarious.

At least I think they are.

Some folks occasionally don’t get it.

So I dumb it down for them.

You would think that would earn me some appreciation.

It doesn’t.

What a tough crowd.

But that’s the Sandies.

Good food.

Good friends.

A few miles on the motorcycles.

A little rain.

A little weather forecasting that may or may not have survived contact with reality.

And enough dry humor around the table to keep everybody entertained.

Nobody set any land-speed records.

Nobody conquered the world.

Nobody even managed to keep the weather away.

But we did what we set out to do.

We rode.

We ate.

We laughed.

And most importantly—

We checked the “enjoy” box.

Sometimes, folks, that’s the best adventure of all.

Re-try next Saturday for The Roadkill Adventure 7 am GTD