"Are Ya'll Runnin From The Law?"

Texans Lost in the Okie Zone

By Spark

I was wolfing down shrimp at Joe's Crab Shack in Plano on Saturday night, when Haagar asked if we wanted to go on a ride Sunday afternoon. Joe's hosts a popular bike night on the 2^nd and 4^th Saturdays, and the place was packed as usual. About a dozen of us had taken over a long table, and we were trying to hear each other over 400 bikes and a band. After a long day of running errands in the rain, I was not letting anything get between me and the tasty crustaceans. Finally, Web shouted, "Hey, are we gonna go or not?"

"Sure," I said, polishing off the last of the boiled shrimp, "It's supposed to be nice tomorrow, and I could use a ride. Where are we going?"

"Mystery ride," answered Haagar.

"Can you tell us where and when to meet, or is that a mystery too?" I asked.

"I could tell you..." started Haagar.

"So kill me already, where do we meet?" I asked.

"The blessed dumpster," piped Hotdog, "That way you guys can smell garbage while I eat lunch over at the Sonic."

Silently I wondered who was really going to get the worst of that deal. We use a local 7-11 parking lot as a central gathering point for some of our rides. At one end of the lot is a dumpster, and enough space for a couple dozen bikes. Right behind the store is a Sonic Drive-In, where they host Bike Night on 1^st and 3^rd Fridays. Every time we meet for a ride, Hotdog goes over to the Sonic and gorges on, well, hotdogs. The man just can't get enough. Even if it’s a dinner ride, he'll go for the dogs first. No matter what happens to him later in life, he'll be well-preserved.

"I guess the dumpster is as good a starting point as any," said Haagar. "Be ready to roll at 1:00."

The next day was great --70 degrees, not a cloud in the sky, and a light breeze. We rode to the blessed dumpster, where we found a few people already waiting. Pretty soon, Nichole, Hotdog's beautiful young daughter, came around the corner. "Where's your dad?" we asked. She just pointed to the Sonic and rolled her eyes. After everyone had arrived, we had a quick ride briefing. It boiled down to "if you lose the leader, you don't get lunch". We dragged Hotdog away from the Sonic, and proceeded into traffic.

We rode up US75 to 121, then jogged over to Highway 5 for a leisurely putt to Sherman. The day was perfect, traffic was light, and the leaves were just starting to change colors. From Sherman we rode to Dennison, then followed Haagar to the Taste of China Buffet. Once there, we had a great lunch and lots of good conversation.

"Where to now?" we asked.

Our Fearless Leader…

"This was it," said Haagar.

"What do you mean?" I asked. "There's nothing mysterious about a Chinese buffet in Dennison. We're just a couple miles south of the Oklahoma border, let's at least ride across the Red River to say we were there. It'll only take a few minutes."

The group seemed to agree, so Haagar led us a few miles North. Hotdog and Spider needed a splash of gas, and as we waited for them to fill up, ChickieFly told Haagar that she was considering going back. Haagar told her not to worry, we would only be in Oklahoma for a minute, and then we could all ride back together. The gas stop done, we scooted down some back roads to a single-lane steel bridge across the Red River. We rode across, 14 bikes in all, while the pick-up trucks on the other side waited patiently. As soon as we got to the other side, Haagar pulled over and got off his bike.

"That's it, we're in Oklahoma," stated Haagar.

A lot of us still wanted to ride. Haagar, Wings, and I looked at a map. None of these little roads even showed up. It was beginning to look like a real mystery ride, because we had no idea where any of these roads would lead. We did the only thing sensible people would do in this situation, we rode.

After a few miles of rural bliss, the road took us to something too big to be a farm, and too small to be a town. The road got narrower, then abruptly turned to a gravel driveway. We saw a man unloading a pickup truck and stopped.

The man looked up at the sound of the bikes idling on the gravel road, and ambled over to our fearless leader. His gray work shirt was held in place by one button, near the top. A huge pasty-white gut protruded from the open front, struggled to break free of the button, and finally cascaded down over his jeans. Slowly, he sized up the whole pack. "Ya'll runnin' from the law?" he asked, squinting against the afternoon sun. "You know, the only reason anybody comes up here is if they's lost or if they's runnin' from the law."

I looked around to make sure there wasn't some little kid playing banjo on the porch or a moonshine still out behind the barn. Where was Burt Reynolds when you needed him?

"No sir, not runnin' from the law," answered Haagar. He went on to get directions, then made a U-turn on the gravel road. One by one, all 14 bikes made a U-turn on the gravel road. We have a rule when you lead a ride - three U-turns, and you're out. Wings leaned toward me and said, "I hate slow turns on gravel."

We headed East, then South. We came to a little bar that we had passed earlier. Haagar pulled in, and the pack followed him. Without stopping, Haagar turned around in the gravel parking lot. U-turn number two, on gravel again. Heading back North, we made a right at the intersection. The air was cool, and the scenery was nice - no matter how many times you passed it.

We went East, taking a different fork than the one we had come in on. We rode on for quite a few miles, then came to a stop sign. Half of the pack pointed right, half of the pack pointed left. We went right. Half of the pack shook their heads. We were headed down a little road called Peanut Trail. Pretty soon, it intersected with Dairy Road. Here's a free travel tip - when you get to the intersection of Peanut Trail and Dairy Road, and one side of the road has cows, and the other side of the road has peanut fields -- you are truly in the boonies.

After a few more miles, we came to yet another stop sign. This time, all three roads were one-lane gravel trails. As we made the third U-turn, Spider said "You're out!" and took the lead. Some bikes were running low on gas, and it was getting late. They bunched up near the leader. I lagged way behind, then cranked it up to check out the latest Mikuni tweaks. The bike sucked in a big gulp of cool air, mixed it with 93 octane, and turned it to speed and noise. Yee-Ha! Just as I was shutting down, Magic Juan shot by, his Vance & Hines pipes howling. He was grinning from ear to ear. Fun stuff.

We got back in formation and managed to behave ourselves all the way back over the bridge and into Dennison. Stopping at a Jack in the Box, we had a royal laughing fit over our ride through the twilight zone. We harassed Haagar, thanked him for a good time, then harassed him some more. He took it like a man.

We filled up, elected to take the quick way down 75, and made it to Plano in no time at all. The sun was setting as our ride came to an end, and bikes peeled off from the pack in twos or threes at appropriate exits. Web and I waved to each one, then continued home. What a ride! For something that was going to take "just a minute", our excursion into the Okie Zone will be with us for a while.