Flying through Oklahoma

 A lot of my journal back then was dedicated to a new universe, motorcyles and motorcyle pieces and the world I saw when I joined the pack

MOTORCYLE THINKINGS  Summer 2004 

How do I explain about the 7-11's? I never thought when I climbed aboard the Flying Dragon and rode 5000 miles that convenience stores would become oases that I looked forward to seeing. I have always had a personal antipathy bordering on loathing for 'convenience stores'. I must have been frightened by a potato chip bag and a six pack as an infant, but I generally tend to dislike the clientele and the content equally.

In a junk food heaven there would be rows of these stores, all staffed by industrious families of newly arrived immigrants living out the American dream, and speaking marginal English--even in the wilds of nowhere North Dakota, the template is the same. Shining rows of cellophane bags and wrappers full of chemicals and sugar with a higher fat content than a hog farm, all jammed into a 12 X 12 building. Not a piece of fruit or a vegetable in sight--with the possible exception of a can of V-8 with the vegetables safely trapped and hermetically sealed in a can. Strangely, there are always a few loungers around, regulars in greasy jeans, chatting and shopping. Who ARE these people? What do they do all day? The anthropologist in me is fascinated.

Don't get me wrong--I'm an all American girl and I love junk food too, but when I've been riding and riding and riding, I want to reach and touch more than sugar in 2000 shapes. On a bike you can't exactly carry around a tomato or two, I discovered within two days of a long trip on my bike that carrying food on a motorcycle is problematic. A) you can never find it when you want it B) you can't eat really well with a 70 mph wind attempting to grab everything out of your hand on its way to your mouth--and C) you can't really let go of the throttle long enough to snack in a meaningful fashion.

And while I'm whining--the scenery around a 7-11 isn't exactly dedicated to visual pleasure. Ah, yes, a gum spattered curb to sit on and gasoline fumes and miles of hot smelly asphalt, bonanza days when there was a bench next to the garbage can.

BUT these stores do have vast supplies of ice cold Gatorade and other sports drinks. Riding across Idaho in 110 degree heat, Gatorade became my staple drink. I discovered I could jam a bottle into the area between my handlebars and windshield and if it had one of those little pull up tops, I could actually drink it as I went instead of wearing the fluid as an accessory. I also found on chilly afternoons if I emptied a bag of M and M's into my sweatshirt pouch I could haul them out a few at a time and get most of them in my mouth. I am sure there are happy little furry rodents all the way through Wyoming who found the ones that flew off into the bushes and they experienced the thrill of chocolate for the first and last time--until I pass through there again.

These stores often feature an aisle or a row of Made in China tacky artifacts that purport to be created by the nearest tribe of Native Americans, working this week in the best of plastic leather and plastic glass beads. I stood in more than one of these stores staring in just plain stunned silence at the sculptures; artfully carved in plastic wood with plastic wolves and plastic bears cavorting in loving families on little flowered plastic bases. I never saw anyone buy the stuff although I always watched to see, someone must or it wouldn't be there, right? Convenience stores are the best place to find really tacky post cards to send home, the ones that make your family wonder about your declining taste and judgement and perhaps think you've been out there on the road way too long.

There is something to be said about these stores as experienced from a bike saddle, when your butt is burning and you cannot find one single position to sit in for more than 3 minutes without howling into the wind. It's pretty wonderful to haul into a hot, stinky, greasy, plastic wrapped gas station-convenience store parking lot and crawl off the bike. Stepping inside the air conditioning is enough to make you weep with joy and there is nothing like a bottle of 7-11 water poured over your head just before you get back on and ride when it's so hot the tar is bubbling. That ice cold Gatorade tastes better than beer right about then and you forgive them everything in that rosy moment.