This is a Fine Meth You've Gotten Us Into!

Day 4 - Part 1

States: 8
Miles: 2737

It had indeed rained on Herm during the night.  I went out to the front of the Days Inn to find most of the other bikers drying, packing up, and preparing their bikes for the day's journey.  The hotel obviously welcomes motorcycles, as they had several parking spots up front reserved just for bikes, so we were all concentrated in one small space.  I took advantage  of the collected rain water to clean Herm up a bit, and while doing that one of the others walked over and made a comment about my wheels ( a complimentary one).  We made some small talk, the usual, where ya from, where ya goin exchange.  He was a burly, rough looking dude, a typical biker straight out of central casting.  He said he was from New York, and this was his first trip out west.  He motioned over to another big burly, younger guy who was packing up his bike and told me that was his son.  He said he was experiencing the ride of his life and proceeded to tell me how his vacation plans locally in the New York area had fallen through.  Given that, his son called and said he was going on a ride and wanted to know if his Dad wanted to join him on a trip out west.  He said his wife said, "You better do this," and therefore he was with his kid exploring the country.  He said they were headed to Yellowstone that day and proceeded to tell me how amazed he was with Utah and Arizona and all of the sites that the west has to offer.  His expression was almost like that of a kid experiencing his first trip to Disneyland. The beaming in his eyes and the pride in his son was obvious.  The contrast between the roughness of these guys and the love and pride between them was fascinating to me.  It was clear that both of them were experiencing something special.  Soon they had everything ready and got ready to mount up and go.  They started up their bikes and pulled out, both giving me a wave, the anticipation on their faces a telling sign.  I felt good for them.  It's interesting, these encounters between motorcyclists.  You may never meet again, but there's a bond there. 

One of the interesting things on a trip like this is the encounters you have off of the road.  Some of the more interesting people I've met have resulted from a need to refuel my motorcycle.  People always seem to want to chat up bikers who are obviously on a long trip.  This one was more interesting that the typical encounter. 

It was late afternoon and not much had happened on the ride so far. I was fearing that I'd have to use one of my random ramblings that I'm saving up when there's nothing to report on.  That's when Amber came to my rescue.  Just before departing Wyoming I was ready for a break and I needed some gas.  A sign ahead indicated fuel was available at the next exit.  I took the exit, but didn't see any sign of a station.  This wasn't your typical roadside Stuckey's stop.  Instead there was a sign indicating gas was available one mile down the road.  So I proceeded to go down that road.  What I found was a small, depressed, nearly abandoned little town.  Apparently I had stumbled onto the meth capital of Wyoming.  I pulled into a sort of convenience store/fertilizer dealer/pawn shop that also happened to sell gasoline.  I was thirsty and needed a soft drink from the fountain machine.  I saw something I don't believe I've seen before, a sign on the dispenser indicating that food stamps could not be used to purchase soft drinks.  

As I returned to the pump, I heard a voice yell, "Hey!"  I was pretty sure I didn't know anyone here, so I ignored the sound.  I heard footsteps and turned around to see what I think was a woman coming out of a van parked nearby.  The van screamed child predoator/meth transportation vehicle all over.  The "woman" smiled (I think) and my suspicions were confirmed - missing teeth.  "Where ya goin'?" she asked.  "Up north," I replied.  "You ain't headin' to the mountains?"  "No," I replied.  Her expression turned to disappointment (I think).  She said, "my friend wants a ride on your bike."  I said, "Sorry, I don't have room for a passenger."  I looked over toward the van, and sitting half in and half out of the van was a malnourished, rather frightening looking female.  She had short black hair, long baggy shorts that hung below her knees, and a gray wife beater tank top (which somehow seemed appropriate).  She then got out and walked over while I filled the tank.  The conversation went something like this:

Her:  I want a ride on your bike.  I really like your bike. 
Me:  Thanks, but you'd have to ride fender. 
Her:  Doncha think I'm cute?
Me:  Absolutely - you're the cutest thing I've seen all day.
(It wasn't that much of a stretch - the only females I had seen were the fat Indian woman at the hotel check-out, and a gas station attendant dressed like Doris Ziffel from Green Acres.  It was then I noticed some strange tatoos.  The most interesting one read Black Bear in script on her arm.  I was imagining demons on her back and a battleship on her chest)
Her:  Where you from?
Me:  Southern California
Her:  Where you headin'?
Me: North
Her:  Where north?
Me: Custer.
Her:  Where's that?
Me:  In Montana
Her:  On this?
Me:  Yep
Her:  Right on!
(She looked a little young for "right on."  I figured she was trying to appeal to the demographic)
Her:  I don't believe we've met.  I'm Amber.
Me:  Pleasure Amber, I'm Biff.
(She then proceed to extend a closed fist to me - a fist bump.  I returned the bump.)
Her:  Where you from?
Me:  California
Her:  Where in California?
Me:  San Francisco
Her:  Oh, that's right.
Me:  Where you from?
Her:  Right here.
(Shocking)
Her:  I really like your bike. 
(Another fist bump)
Her:  It's really pretty
Me:  It's awfully dirty
Her:  I thought you like 'em dirty
Me:  Not that dirty.
(I thought that might deter her.  She remained undeterred, however)
Her:  Where ya' stayin?
Me:  I'm hoping to get to Bismark
Her:  Where's that?
Me:  North Dakota
Her:  Right on.
(One more fist bump)
(At this point I was done fueling.  I began removing my iPhone, my GPS, and locking everything possible.  I faked inputting  a destination into the GPS, trying to imply that i was ready to get going.)
Her:  What do you do when it rains?
Me:  I put on a rain suit
Her:  What if it rains really hard?
Me:  I pull over
Her:  Right on

At that point the van started up.  Toothless and a male driver I hadn't noticed yelled, "C'mon, Amber!"  Amber gave me one more fist bump and sauntered over to the van, trying her best to look sexy.  I could only shake my head.  I think I handled it about as well as possible.  Sometimes it's not easy being a chick magnet.