Day 10 - The Finale

The final push.  Day 10 would be the last day of our adventure…….providing our bikes were still outside our door.  We held our breath, undid the seven locks, cracked the door open, and……..breathed a sigh of relief as not only were the bikes still there, but they had not even been vandalized!  We began to reinstall all of the removable parts and load our luggage back in and on.  As we did, we noted with amazement that the primer gray Maverick's trunk was open and being loaded.  Someone was driving that car!  Probably to the paint shop.

As we departed, we noted the nearby Thunderbird Inn, advertising rooms at a mere $19.95 a night.  We shuddered to imagine what a room which costs a third of our stately accommodations at the Roadway must be like.  It probably lacked a coat rack.  A block away was a McDonalds, at which we stopped soley because we were pretty sure they had toilet paper.   Indeed that was the case, and, having taken something so valuable from them, we felt obligated to purchase an Egg McMuffin.  We wolfed down the corporate concoction, set off, and found ourselves almost immediately in need of that toilet paper again.  So much for fulfilling obligations.

Pine trees in the middle of Arizona?

In no time we found ourselves passing through Flagstaff.  If you've ever traveled Interstate 40, you know of the odd oasis of trees and beauty that define this part of Arizona.  For miles and miles east, west, north, and south of the town all that can be found is hot, barren brush covered desert - except, of course, the bountiful plastic dinosaurs and meteorite superstores.  Flagstaff, though, sits at roughly 7,000 feet above sea level, and the July weather is quite reasonable.  As one travels between Barstow, CA, and Oklahoma City, OK, especially on a motorcycle, it is the one location that offers a bit of relief and scenery.  Sadly it ends much too quickly as soon you find yourself screaming down the winding interstate with crazy truck drivers exceeding 90 miles per hour.  Well, at least we did.  We thought we had come upon Snowman chasing down Bandit as one particularly anxious trucker whipped his 18 wheeler in and out of lanes, hurtling down the mountain with so little control that we expected to see Stephen Spielberg at the bottom filming the remake of Duel.  

Our road mate seemed to be auditioning for
the part of the villain in the remake of Duel.

When he failed to opt for the runaway truck escape, we simply decided he was insane, and stayed a safe distance behind him.  Sadly when we got to the bottom of the long decline, he had failed to crash, but fortunately he also failed to take anyone else out.  

We had only one more hurdle to overcome - the Mojave Desert. The challenge hit us as soon as we entered the shaky state.  The city of Needles greets all who enter California via I-40.  Needles' claim to fame is that it is the city most frequently cited as the storied "hot-spot-in-the-nation."  Legend has it that NASA tested their spaceship reentry shields by leaving them out in the open in Needles.  And in mid-July of one of the hottest summers in history, the city of Needles was at its best.  It was so hot that Mayor Bloomberg would have ordered every citizen to drink three Big Gulps.  If Guy Fieri had been in town, his shirt would have actually been on fire.  And we now know why it's called Needles.  It's because the needles on one's temperature gauge can literally bend around the peg that limits their maximum movement.  On the Road Glide, the air temperature gauge (or the inner fairing temperature gauge, as we refer to it) pegs at 120 degrees.  Like a highway car crash, you try not to look, but you find you must,.  And indeed a glance at our gauges showed them to be pegged at that 120 degree mark.  How much hotter is really was than that we don't know, but we both concluded that the surface of the sun couldn't be a whole lot worse.  We downed another gallon of Gatorade and set off across the desert.  By some miracle we made it through the final hurdle without spontaneously combusting and soon found ourselves entering greater Los Angeles.  

The continuous war that is LA area traffic didn't bother us in the least.  After what we had been through, this was a breeze - literally, as it was actually a bit chilly.  Ironically, the land of sunshine was the coolest weather we had experienced during our entire epic journey.  And before we knew it, we were pulling up in front of our houses, our epic adventure having come to an end.  Just under 5,000 miles had been traveled.  Multiple layers of skin had been blown off of our faces and arms.  Dozens of fingers had been thrust.  And we both agreed that it was yet another great motorcycling adventure.  The engines went quiet, the bodies ached, and the joints creaked.  And we were sorry that our trip had come to a conclusion……..until the next one!!

Things we learned on this trip:

• Corn isn't all it's cracked up to be.
• The Road Glide is the finest piece of design, engineering, and construction ever created by man.
• Traveling to Le Claire, Iowa, on a Road Glide, in the worst heat and worst drought in recent history is an awesome experience.

Day 9

Sufficiently rested, Mutt N Mutter set out for the second leg of their trip home on Saturday, hopeful that they had experienced the worst day of their adventure.  Sadly, those hopes would be dashed.  But more about that later.  We headed westward, conveniently rolling into Amarillo, Texas, at lunchtime.  Anyone who has traveled through this area knows that there is only one place to eat when you're in Amarillo, the Big Texan Steak Ranch, where there are approximately 347 signs between Oklahoma City and Amarillo reminding you that the 72 oz steak is free!  There's one small catch - you have to eat the entire thing.  And they mean the entire thing.  Meat, fat, gristle, probably even the bones, plate, and silverware too.  Otherwise you shell out 39 bucks.  We opted for Hooters instead, where as chance would have it they were holding a car wash.  A car wash at Hooters?  Say no more!  We pulled in expecting to see something along the lines of this:

Hard to beat Hooters girls washing your car!

Uhhh, that's not exactly what we found.  Instead we found the local……ummm….."help" eagerly waiting to clean you out….errrr, your car.  

If you don't let us wash your car, we will kill your women!

We passed.  Lunch was tasty, though, and the fact that it took nearly two hours to order and serve a couple of sandwiches didn't bother us one bit.

Hmmm, where did I pack that rain suit?

Having escaped Hooters with our bikes, dirt, and belongings intact we set off for New Mexico.  Fortunately the trip was relatively uneventful.  We were able to make it to Gallup, New Mexico when rain appeared in the distance.  We decided that our day's journey had come to an end, and we searched for a place to stay for the night.  We considered the Quality Suites, the Hampton Inn, even the Regal 8.  And rejected them.  No, we preferred to get a room where we could park the bikes outside the door.  This would enable us to both keep an eye on the bikes and minimize the distance that we would have to lug our gear.  In that latter endeavor we succeeded.  As far as quality in accommodations we failed.  Greatly.  In terms of adventure, it will likely remain unmatched forever.  The Roadway Inn had a nice ring to it we thought.  Wrong.  The Gallup, New Mexico Roadway Inn is the kind of place where busts on the TV show Cops take place, where raids occur on a regular basis, where high speed pursuits end, - the only difference being that we still had our shirts on.  To say that this place is a flea bag is to say that Jerry Sandusky has a slight image problem.  The cars in the parking lot looked like the hand-me-downs from a demolition derby.  

Prepped for paint in 1973.

Guess there was traffic to the right.

From the primer gray Maverick (when is the last time you saw a Maverick?) to the car next to us with the dangling right side mirror and unusual antenna it was like finding one's self in a Cuban used car lot/salvage yard.  

A little tape should make that door look just like new.

Of special interest was the car whose door had rotted away, a vain attempt to repair it having been made using cellophane boxing tape.  

The hotel was located literally on the other side of the tracks - by about five feet.  Freight trains roared by with the frequency of Detroit Lion arrests, threatening to suck our Road Glides into the vacuum created by 180 car trains screaming by at 120 mph.  

Incredibly, our room was worse.  The "coat rack" consisted of a 2 by 4 nailed to the wall with picture hangers for coat hooks, only one of the lamps worked, and we're pretty sure that the chair had recently been used to perform abortions.  

Deluxe coat rack - for coats
that resemble pictures.

What could this chair possibly been used for?

The bathroom was devoid of soap and had no toilet paper.  Apparently drugs deals require none of these conveniences.  We decided to strip the bikes of every removable part and keep them in the room - where the lamps, coat racks and toilet paper would have been.  Fearing for our lives we decided that it would be best to get to bed and steal out of there as early as feasible.  We drifted off to sleep as the soothing roar and rumble of the adjacent freight trains lulled us into a restful assault on every one of our senses.  

Hope I don't "loose" my change
in the soda machine.

That train was much closer than it appears.

Things we learned today:

• The Cherokee Nation has embraced capitalism.
• Old gray American cars, moving or stationary are not to be trusted.
• Heat affects stick deodorant negatively.

Day 8

Shark Week officially ended the previous evening, and it was time to pack all of our belongings and hope that they fit into the limited space we had available on our bikes.  Having bought a Harley shirt at every dealer that we visited plus having won massively at the raffle, that was proving to be quite a challenge.  Even more daunting was the prospect of fitting a newly purchased sweatshirt into a space large enough for a hanky.  You might wonder why one would purchase a thick, heavy sweatshirt when the area temperatures had not dropped below 97 degrees in a week.   Mutt Ron was wondering exactly the same thing as he jumped up and down on his overstuffed suitcase, trying to force it closed.  Eventually he succeeded (the hanky was sacrificed), but the prospect of the suitcase exploding open while zooming down the highway dogged him all the way home. 

Mutt Ron indicates his optimism regarding
 the ability of his suitcase to remain intact.

We loaded up the iron steeds and said our sad goodbyes to our fellow Road Gliders, the few who were left.  It seems that Road Gliders like to awaken and ride off at extremely early hours.  Not us - we waited until 6:00 a.m.  We set off under overcast conditions, which, considering the fact that the previous five days saw temperatures exceed the century mark, were quite welcome.  You know that you've adjusted to the warm climate when you feel that it's necessary to dawn your heavy leather jackets when it's "only" 86 degrees.  The clouds lasted for about two hours and soon the sun came out to remind us that the Mayans probably were right and the end of the world is imminent.  Off came the leather jackets.

Our health had held out during the trip, but at this point the physical well being of the gallant duo was beginning to show signs of weakness.  Mutter Mark had awakened to a head cold prior to setting out and Mutt Ron executed a dismount during the first leg of the return trip that would make Dudley Do-Right cringe.  He aggravated a herniated lower disc that had him hobbling around like Tim Conway's little old man character on the old Carol Burnett Show.  Despite these challenges we soldiered on, blasting through Des Moines, turning south and flying through Kansas City, on to Wichita, the temperature  climbing as we ventured further and further south.  We were making excellent time when Mutt Ron's bike suddenly went silent.  He pulled in the clutch, guided the bike to the shoulder of the freeway and quietly coasted to a stop.  We both scratched our heads.  It couldn't be out of gas, could it?  We had only traveled 180 miles, yet indeed that was the case - the fuel tank was bone dry.  Apparently even the fuel tank was sweating in the heat. 

The Road Glide looked lonely sitting at the side of the road, a point estimated to be approximately 95 miles south of Wichita.  We know this because the bike had stopped at a sign informing us that we were in fact 95 miles south of Wichita. 

The only thing to occupy the time was to stare at that sign while waiting for Mutt Mark to ride off in search of fuel.  Truth be told, there was one other thing to occupy the time - listen to and absorb the taunts of the occasional jeering child and truckers delighted by the fact that one of their nemesis bikers was sidelined.  It's not clear what the fascination with motorcycles on the side of the road is, but the truckers seem to get great joy out of tooting their horns and small children - large children, too, it seems - seem compelled to wave with delight at you while they scream by in the air-conditioned comfort of their annoying cage.  After what seemed like a century, the relief fuel arrived.  We poured it in, topped off at the closest station and set off for Oklahoma City.

We had been riding for about 14 hours at this point and considered stopping.  After a brief discussion we decided that we should try to get through Oklahoma City that evening so we wouldn't have to deal with morning traffic.  Obviously we were delirious, because, looking back at it, the prospect of traffic jams on the freeways of Oklahoma City is ridiculous.  More so given the fact that the following day was Saturday.  Stopping, it turns out, really would have been the wise thing, for the link from the southbound interstate to the westbound interstate turned out to be a toll road.  Anyone who rides a motorcycle despises toll roads.  Having to pull up, get the bike in neutral, put the bike on the side stand, fish out money, pay, then reverse it all seems to take more time than kick starting a panhead.   It's even worse when one does not have the correct change and all booths are unmanned.  To address this issue the good state of Oklahoma tried to head off the problem with one change machine just ahead of the one change basket into which the traveler is to toss his coins (but not pennies!).  Dutifully we pulled up, put the bikes in neutral, leaned them over on the side stand, fished the bills from our wallets, fed the bills into the change machine………….and that's when the trouble began.  Seems the change machine, the ONLY change machine, was unable to accept the dollar bills.  No matter which bill we tried, the machine refused to accept it.  Left with no alternative we decided that the prudent thing to do was to…….blow through the toll booth.  As we did so, alarms blared, lights flashed, and attack dogs were unleashed.  We felt like Steve McQueen - but with even cooler motorcycles.  We escaped, but we expect to receive invoices from the state of Oklahoma for $1.15 in our mailboxes very soon.

Incredibly it got worse.  By the time we got onto the west side of the huge metropolis of Oklahoma City, it was almost 10:00 p.m. and we were badly in need of food, showers, and sleep.  Mostly showers.  We pulled into the first accommodations we could find, only to find that………they had only one room left.  With one bed.  Being the only room left apparently triggers an alarm that sends the price up, for as the clerk quoted us the price of the room, she watched the price simultaneously rise by 10%.  She blamed the owner.  The image of a dastardly owner resembling Mr. Burns from South Park sitting at a console spying on us came to mind, he greedily rubbing his hands anticipating what he would do with his bonus of eight dollars.  

We wearily accepted, only because we weren't sure we had the strength to get back on the bikes.  After a brief fight over who would sleep on the floor, each actually fighting FOR the floor, victory was claimed by Mutter Mark as he collapsed and passed out on the couch.  

 

Mutt Ron gave in and collapsed on the bed and drifted off to sleep, happily dreaming of 18-wheelers filled with laughing waving children, the trucks happily tooting their horns - as they drove off 2000 foot high cliffs, falling to the ground, exploding into tiny bits.  As Mr. Burns would say, "Excellent!"

Things we learned today:

• More change in the pockets is a good thing.
• When the gas gauge reads "Lo" the gas really is "Lo."
• Oklahoma is NOT O.K.

Day 7

Today was the final official day of the Shark Week II rally.  We had time enough for one last ride.  The plan was to go to a biker roadhouse called, oddly enough, Shark's.  Shark's seemed custom designed for our Road Glide devotees.  They had sharks all over the place, mounted on the walls, topped off by a massive shark hung in the front of the facility.  We knew we had hit upon a place that finally got it.  A shark theme for a collection of shark nose riders.  Perfect!  Only one problem.  The workers there had no idea what a Road Glide was.  As some attempted to explain the front faring's resemblance to a shark's nose, all they got were blank stares from the help.  They might as well have been explaining nuclear physics to a bar full of Jessica Simpsons.  The trip was not a total loss, though.  

Pee Wee does his best Steve Irwin impersonation

Conveniently it was found by some of the more enterprising among our group that forum member Pee Wee was a perfect fit inside the shark's mouth, and he was immediately lifted up and inserted……where he was left until the rest of us finished our meals……just kidding.  He was only left there for 45 minutes.  

The trip to Shark's was made even more rewarding when it was discovered that that we had proudly added three more members to the "beyond 45 degrees" club (i. e., those who somehow put their bikes on their sides), two on the way to Shark's and one that nearly knocked Pee Wee out of the shark's mouth.  All were summoned for the rewarding of the prestigious Shark Tooth of Shame, which they collectively displayed proudly later that evening.  

The First Five, 2012's recipients of the Shark Tooth of Shame

Upon completing the lunch it was time to head back to headquarters to prepare for the evening's dinner and raffle.  Dinner was a carefully planned affair at an relatively upscale restaurant, which in Le Clair meant it wasn't McDonald's.  Mutt and Mutter put on their best wrinkled duds, the only clothing that wasn't soaked in sweat, covered with bugs, or freshly purchased from the area Harley dealers, and sauntered down on foot the the facility, which was within staggering distance of the hotel.  Imagine their surprise when they found themselves the first ones at the restaurant.  A lovely hostess welcomed us as we asked if we were at the correct facility, advising her that we had reservations for approximately 150 people.  The hostess immediately went from a lovely demeanor to a panicked one, as they in fact did NOT have reservations for approximately 150 people.  They didn't have reservations for anyone associated with Shark Week, and certainly not for a bunch of grimy, sun-rotted, stinking Harley riders.  Assuming that we had gotten the name of the restaurant mixed up somehow, we began our short trek back to the hotel.  That's where we met the "power women" coming our way, Jeannette, Heather, and Nan.  They were, in fact, on the way to the same restaurant from which we had just emerged.  So we turned around and followed them in to witness what we assumed would be great carnage.  The restaurant staff resembled European financial ministers, each frantically trying to pass the responsibility of dealing with the power women off to one another.  In the end it was determined that a series of communications mishaps resulted in the restaurant never having been advised of our plans for the evening.  However, sensing the massive revenue resulting from 150 hungry bikers, they quickly attempted to scramble and accommodate us…….in the bar.  The word was we couldn't use the restaurant, because that's where the "normal" people were sitting and eating.  Being a bit put off by being viewed as something other than "normal," the power women declined.  It was decided that each party would find dinner independently and then reassemble later in the evening for final activities.   Whereupon Mutt and Mutter decided to wander over to the adjacent……McDonald's.  As we entered this finest of American establishments we found that our idea was not unique, and in fact McDonald's was filled with just under a total of 150 bikers.  So much for upscale.  We looked them over, turned to each other, and simultaneously stated, "where do the normal people get served?"

Day 6

Cornhugging Children of the Corn

Field of Dreams.  That was today's destination.  Having finally sighted corn, it was time to immerse ourselves in it.  
Onlookers gazed in fascination as the crazy Californians did unmentionable things with corn....wait, it's not what you think. 


On the very field that dramatically featured baseball players emerging from fields of corn, Mutt N Mutter attempted to duplicate the same scene....with their Harleys.  The site managers were not quite on board with that idea, though, and we therefore had to satisfy ourselves with replicating the scene to the best of our ability.  You be the judge of how well we did.  

After getting our fill of corn, it was time to go consume some.  Lunch was being served at Breitling's, a highly regarded Iowa family restaurant with a sterling reputation for quality.  It also happens to sit at the highest point in the state,  which means the restaurant sits on land that is approximately 7 1/2 inches higher than the Mississippi River.  Apparently the family has not always gotten along, based on the corridors which are lined with newspaper clippings detailing each time the facility has burned down.  Judging by the frequency with which such events seems to have occurred, we felt compelled to wolf our dinner (as the mid-day meal is known in these parts) down as quickly as possible lest another blaze break out in mid-meal.  Fully expecting a fire extinguisher to be served along with the entre, we were a bit disappointed to find only asbestos napkins.  

We hurried out of Breitling's before the first sign of smoke and made our way back to the iron steeds in search of......a fairy......no, wait.....a ferry.  (It's been a very confusing day).  Having been told that we could cross the Mississippi River into Wisconsin by watercraft rather than by bridge, we decided that it was a no brainer - the ferry was a must.  Also, there was no bridege.

Mark attempts his own Blessing of the Bikes as his
 boots smolder on the 140 degree deck.

It seemed like a good idea....until we rolled on board and found that the deck was constructed of solid steel.  Steel that had spent the entire day absorbing the heat of the blazing sun, resulting in a reflection of warmth that had us regarding the deck of the ferry in somewhat the same way that pancakes regard the griddle.  The captain informed us that they had measured the temperature with a surface thermometer and found the steel to be a mere 140 degrees.  Barely enough to cook (American) bacon (not that goofy round stuff, eh?)  Luckily it was only a ten minute ride, but we did manage to accomplish the rare feat of flat spotting our tires without having even been in motion.  


Having reached Wisconsin, we confirmed that global warming has indeed taken effect.  Impossibly, the Badger State was even warmer than Iowa.  In fact, it was so warm that, as roadglide.org forum member CheesyRider stated, "our biggest motorcycle wreck fear was “What if we get knocked out and end up lying on the pavement and cook to death?”  Fortunately that did not occur and we finally completed our circuit, arriving back at Road Glide central, completing yet another day of exciting adventure in the midwest.  


Things we learned today:

• It is possible to consume (and savor) a one-hour lunch in a mere four minutes.
• One has adjusted to the hot conditions when the bank thermometer reads 104 degrees and you regard it as too low.
• Sunburned Canadians small like maple-glazed ham.

Days 4 & 5

The howls from the readership have been heard.  You want your blog posts!  Sorry to have missed a Day 4 post, but there has been entirely too much fun to have, too many old friendships to renew and too many new friendships to establish.  Thus, a combined Day 4 and Day 5 summary.  

Day 4 was spent gathering the freshly fed KC crew and zipping northward up the highway in search of Iowa.  In search of the greatest concentration of corn anywhere.  After a run of a couple of hours, the crew pulled into a gas station, in search of the elusive 91 octane.  It seems that the American midwest has decided to ditch the all-important Harley fuel, replacing it with corn.  A noble, yet entirely misguided approach.  It's the motorcycle equivalent of feeding tofu to Michael Phelps.  Having found such a station, the rough, tough bikers on their rumbling, imposing Harleys, pulled in as fascinated onlookers gawked at the awesome display of chrome, thunder, and leather.  Whereupon two of the nine riders promptly rolled their rumbling imposing Harleys on their sides.  Not bad - at least 75% of the  crew managed to stay upright - including, of course, Mutt & Mutter.  This dubious achievement was promptly recognized by awarding the Shark Tooth of Shame to the recipients.  

Shrug and Mrs Chainsaw display the highly coveted Shark Tooth of Shame

Having recovered from this supreme display of motorcyling skill, the group settled in to get some cool refreshing liquids, whereupon Mark was approached by a woman who introduced herself by declaring her wish to allow to smell his..........pipe.  Seems his tobacco reminded her of a special someone - probably another highly skilled rider.  

You want to smell what?????

Eventually the group made its way to Le Claire, Iowa where over 130 fellow Road Glide pilots were pulling in to settle into their encampments.  Le Claire is a beautiful small town, some might even refer to it as bucolic, for that is how small, charming towns are described.  Apparently bucolic also means town overrun with bugs.  To say that the bugs are thick might be a bit of an understatement.  The bugs are so thick that the hotel staff literally scoops the bugs off of the sidewalk in the morning.  As proof, the following photos are offered:

Those are may flies, which confuses us greatly, as May passed over six weeks ago.  The bugs appear to be making up for lost time.  Does this bother us?  Not in the least.  You know those motorcycle people - the more bugs, the better!  

Things we learned these past two days:

• We are not running out of corn anytime soon.
• The overly exaggerated Canadian use of the term "ay?" is in fact NOT overly exaggerated.
• The human body is physically capable of of sweating out twice the amount of liquids taken in.
• Chicks dig pipes.

Day 3

Finally a day without rain.  Instead we were rewarded with oppressive heat.  And road construction.  Miles and miles of orange cones and one-way interstates.  It might have been faster to plow through the fields of the heartland.  This was the first day that actually required us to be on a schedule.  We were to meet Mr. and Mrs. Chainsaw (sadly, not their real names).  The Chainsaw family had fed and put Ron up for a night at their home in Kansas when he was conducting his Tour of the 48 states last year.  The idea was to meet in Salina, Kansas and ride together to Kansas City where more forum members were gathering for some signature Kansas City treats, namely KC strip steaks.  We hadn't gotten quite as far  as we had hoped the previous evening, so in order to reach Salina on time we were required to get up at what those in the military refer to as O-Dark Thirty.  It is normally pretty quiet in small town Eastern Colorado on a Sunday morning - until Mutt N Mutter roll in, that is.  As we dutifully started the engines on our trusty Road Glides, and let them gently warm (a neccesary procedure to both preserve head gaskets and enrage the neighbors) we noticed curtains flying open, lights flashing on, and we're pretty sure that in the distance the gumball machines on top of the local law enforcement vehicles on the way.  We didn't stick around to find out - it was time to get to Kansas.  We rolled through the plains, spotting our first corn sighting, stopping to high five.  We noticed the heat building a bit, and removed our jackets.  We trudged onward toward Salina where the temperature continued to rise some more.  Remaining hydrated became a high priority.  


In Salina we met the Chainsaws, had a meal and set off for Topeka where we were meeting up with more forum members, JayKS, and BigJack, our KC area host, Chainsaw on his awesome black "Dragon Slayer" Road Glide and Mrs. Chainsaw on her equally awesome limited edition Screaming Eagle CVO Road Glide.


The CVO has a large engine by Harley standards, featuring 110 cubic inches of displacement.  Harley engines are air cooled.  That's a bit of a problem when the air that's supposed to be cooling the engine is warmer than the air that is igniting in the engine's combustion chamber.  Yes, it was that hot.  And here is proof:

That is Mrs. Chainsaw's leg, and no, she didn't lean up against the barbeque at Big Jack's - this was the result of simply sitting in the riding position.   Suddenly that rain is starting to look pretty attractive - at least to Mrs. Chainsaw.


Things We Learned Today:

• The world's largest prairie dog resides in Oakley, Kansas
• When spitting with your helmet on it is important to lift the face shield first.
• The rumors are true - Kansas is in fact in color (courtesy of Shrug)