7-24-05

  Babes, brauts, beer, burgers, bummer

  It all started out Great!

  Friday my buddy Joe at the bookstore, always looking out for my welfare, invited me to go along with the Awesome Polka Band Babes on a float he organized for them, down the Yellowstone River. Joe has moved into a huge void here in eastern Montana and started renting rafts out of his store. He was instrumental in getting the Polka Babes to come over to Miles City after he had talked  with Christy the Wordsmith who he had over to his store for his speakers night, held at the bookstore. At that time he found out that Christy was a member of this all girl band. I was added to the manifest probably as ballast, but I never did get to see just exactly what I was listed as.  I ended up being pressed into service as ‘Tug Boat Rex’ when  the wind drove our tightly roped together rafts into the shallows. I would gallantly display my great strength in towing the group out to fast water. They all had a good time laughing at me as I attempted to get back into my raft, but at least this year I was able to regain my raft without acting as if I was a propeller and nearly drowning as I did last year on the Madison, when I floated with the girls. Tucker  and Glenna were also on the raft trip and acted as ‘The Captain and First Mate’.

It was a good trip down the river although it had to be cut short as the Babes had to get to town and prepare for their gig at the Vets park down town on Main Street. There was a nice little feed put on in their honor before the show and I was invited to it as well.

The Babes put on a great show and nobody got rowdy, or got up to dance which is a shame as they were really good. The story is that after the show they were ready to PARTY, but  I had already headed for home as there was a huge storm approaching and I wanted to get me and the sidecar outfit home and under cover before it hit.

  Saturday morning I got my R90/6 packed  up with my camp gear and headed into town to meet with Tucker and Glenna who were going with me to a party at Dr Greg Frazier’s place in Fort Smith. Harry likes to keep an eye on things.

 We hit the grocery store and ‘bought them out’. We loaded up their van that Glenna (with the dogs) drove and Tucker and I on our motorcycles, headed south out of town on the Tongue River road as far as Ashland where we had lunch.

 It is wheat harvest time in the area and this grain was extremely heavy. The combine was going at a slow walking pace.

We made it to Greg’s place mid afternoon. Tucker  got his shade structure tied and bungeed together and we all sat around and visited until I felt my eyes getting  heavy.  I found a nice spot for a nap and when I woke up, everyone was gone. They came in later with wet dogs and stories of how cold the water was.

Fort Smith is end of the road country and Greg’s place is right on the very edge. We had a great view of the valley and mountains.

As it became  dark, Greg used his native American skills handed down through generations of fire building to create a bomb blast (1/2 gallon of gas and a match) that really got things jumping. It is an effective way to get a fire started I will have to admit. I saw Bill Shockley do an imitation of it with only about a cup of gas. He ended up almost burning up half of his gear that was too close to the fire. Greg only had a small out of control grass fire but he was able to get it contained before it consumed the yard and fence.

  A few of Greg’s friends came  over and after the meat was cooked we all headed to the table and stuffed ourselves with an amazing array of goodies. I will have to report that there was a quantity of beer consumed at this party. I, after learning or relearning, a lesson last time I was at Frazier’s, only consumed one bottle of beer. I don’t ever want to get the dry heaves again. I can learn, and I learn best the ‘hard way’. 

We were admiring the clouds and noticed a storm brewing headed our way. It took about thirty seconds after it hit to remove all of Tucker hard work in getting the shade structure up. It came down much faster than  it went  up. Fortunately it never did get completely away and  we were  able to bunch it up and stash it  in the garage before any serious damage was done.

  My little tent made it  though the wind storm in good shape and only pulled out one tent peg that  I hadn’t gotten firmly in all the way. It was fairly well protected in the yard and I don’t know how well it would have  done if out in the open.

It was a good story night, everyone had some good ones to tell.

  In the morning we headed up the road to Yellowtail Dam to check it out. The road climbs up a big hill and the view of  the river valley and farming districts below was impressive. There was a forest fire in the area so the air was not as clear as it should have been.

The road finally comes down to the dam site and the marina.

We were going to go on across the dam but decided to head back to town and have some breakfast.

We stopped at Custer’s last stop where this  old wooden teepee is falling into serious disrepair.

  After breakfast we headed in different directions as Glenna took her own route home  while we backtracked the road over until  we got to the road to Colstrip which we took heading north. At Forsyth we took the frontage road homeward. About  two miles from Hathway the road makes a slow S curve under the railroad tracks. I was riding behind Tucker and  noticed a line appearing under his motorcycle as he was heading down the road.

I finally realized it was oil leaking out of his bike and caught up to him and flagged him down. He thought that his  clutch cable had broken, but it turns out that something really bad must have happened to the clutch to make some sort of hole that let the oil out of his engine. He must have had only a cup of oil left in it before I got him to shut if off. Tucker said that he hated to see his bike “ go English”. This is a reference to how British bikes all leak oil.

  I offered him a ride home on the back of my bike, which I knew he would have to accept. As he was about to climb on I said, ‘Get on Bitch’. God, I thought he was going to hit me!!!

  The R90 sagged down under the load but valiantly rode us lard asses home at 85 mph. I got my motorcycles out from under the shed and backed the truck up to the trailer. After hooking it up we headed back and found the oily beast as we left it.

It was a bummer way to end a great weekend and ride.