Date: Tue, 13 Jun 1995 13:23:13 -0600 (MDT)
From: Penny Powers <ppowers@silver.sdsmt.edu>

Part III - Zarda's

Having already had too much to drink to ride (and planning on more) 
the collection of grungy out-of-towners (plus Ivan, Sherry, and 
Chance...Cody and Megan having been carted off to Auntie's)
pile into a van and a car and head to Zarda's for deeeelicious barbecue.

Skiv, who never gets lost, volunteers to go in the car with Sherry when 
she says she's not entirely sure which way to go.  The image of the car 
getting pulled over by a trigger-happy cop concerned about the young lady 
obviously hijacked by the scuzzy biker pops to mind.  Ivan takes Chance 
as hostage with him and and leads off with a fire in his eye and thunder 
under his foot.

We recommend the "burnt end plate". Don't ask, just eat.  Needs extra 
sauce, though. Lots of extra sauce. Sas asks for sausage. "OK."

"What kind of sausage is that?"
"Sliced."
"Is it hot links?"
"Sliced."
"What size is it?"
"It's sausage.  We slice it."

With a resigned shrug Sas cooperates with the inevitable.  Yep...it's sliced.

Pitchers of beer, bottles of hot sauce, and hockey on the big-screen TV. 
We thought of stashing a buncha bottles of the sauce into Chance's car 
seat, but someone thought it might look a bit suspicious if whoever was 
carrying the car seat had bulging biceps just from toting a three month 
old kid around.  Sherry doesn't bat an eyelash, so we conclude Ivan does 
this sort of thing all the time.

"Hey, have some more beer!  Yer lookin' a little dry."
"Ivan, *you* have more beer."
"Suits me fine! Will do!.......Ahhhhhhhh"

Ivan plays host and supplies running beer.  Three pitchers, five 
drinkin'.  Just about right.  Ron and Skiv discuss "cup checks" while 
watching hockey.  Sas tries to analyze the sausage, decides it's sliced.  
Penny and Ivan discuss FXRs.  Kevin injects observations on hockey, bikes 
and barbeque.

Discussion turns to barbeque.  Penny points out that on the Wet Coast 
it's *a* barbeque and refers to the process, not the product.  Here it's 
*barbeque* and means the product.  Skiv points out that what is commonly 
called barbequing is actually grilling, which is a much faster process 
than barbequing, which takes hours of slow, wet roasting in sauce.  

"Yer lookin' dry...have some more beer."
"Ivan, *you* have some more beer."
"Suits me fine! Will do!........Ahhhhhhhhhhh."
"Sliced sausage.  I just don't get it."

Back to Ivan's for homemade dessert while we stood around asking questions
about the bikes. Sas went inside to call his wife and tell her that he
made it to KC ok, and #29 managed to keep him in the house with questions
while the other scum tied a set of training wheels onto Sas's Triumph.
When he emerged into the garage again, there they were, dangling from
the footpegs. He seemed pleased with the addition, of course.  

"Buncha lunatics."
"Feculent scum to you, Sas."

A good night's rest and another humongous breakfast. Sausage, bacon,
biscuits, and scrambled eggs. Skiv did the honors with the eggs.

"Sherry, where's your spice rack?"
"Oh, I don't have one. Here's the salt and pepper."

At this point Ivan points out Sherry doesn't have a spice rack because 
she has a whole spice *closet*.  Yippee! Skiv's eyes glaze over. Penny
slaps her hand to her forehead and gazes heavenward - the eggs might
take another half hour....

Skiv asks for some Tabasco. Sas goes through the cupboard and rejects one
bottle after another. One of the bottles was indeed Tabasco, but Sas
had not recognized it because the contents were khaki green. 

"How long have you had this bottle?"
"We're not sure."
"Does Tabasco Sauce ever go bad?"
"If it did, what organism could possibly grow in there?"
"Good question. Here, Skiv."

Tabasco, celery seed, ginger, worcestershire...drool over the spice 
closet and decide not to blow folks' minds too early.  Pronounce them 
fit to eat. Great eggs! Don't forget the cream cheese.

Back on the road!! Three hundred miles to Staunton, Illinois. Six bikes.
Ivan the Terrible at a strong, steady 70 in the lead. Lane changes and
exits performed in flawless formation (almost always). Damn, these
people RIDE. We don't need no steenkin' weekend warriors here. Unspoken
etiquette of group riding observed. No one crossing the path of the
person behind. Proper distance. Clear hand signals.

Then St. Louis. Sporties need gas (again). We're stuck in some Friday
construction backup, so we slide right and all exit on a road that
didn't used to be so near the Mississippi River. It is now. There's a
semi parked up on the side of the road and the driver is out fishing
for catfish with a cane pole.

This may take a while to find some gas. We're thinkin' that we're gonna
really get it from everyone else for not having bigger gas tanks. This
is East St. Louis and obviously pretty low on the Highways Department
list of priorities for fixing potholes. Real axle busters here. Tire
poppers.  Neighborhood has declined a little since Skiv's parents lived 
here in the late Forties.  Lane markings on the road look a little 
arbitrary.  Just ride where the potholes and the oncoming traffic ain't.

Finally we find some gas and some guy tells us that we can avoid the
construction by taking another route. Sas and Penny are the first two
out of the gas station and they miss a stop sign and fly right through
the intersection. 

"Hey, why's everyone else stopping?"
"I don't know, maybe someone forgot to turn the gas on."
"Oh, well."

Behind, Ivan has jammed on the binders and stops with front wheel 
on the line, flanked by Ron.  Skiv, dodging a homicidal maniac, 
discovers Ivan has gone CBDR...Constant Bearing, Decreasing Range
...and pops the chute.
  
Kevin's aiming just to the right of Ron's bike, so Skiv eases left and 
burns to a halt beside Ivan, with a clear view of grilles dead ahead.
Stop sign is overgrown and in a really odd place.  Locals look on in 
surprise, having forgotten it was there, apparently.

The second way out of town turns out to have a rain cloud and at least
thirteen poorly marked exits to get to where we want to be - Illinois.
Skiv and Kevin get stuck in an oily drizzle and lose sight of the rest
of the group for awhile before taking all the correct turns by guesswork
and catching up. Ah, yes - Illinois! 

Oh, no. More construction. Clutch hand aches, deodorant fails in the heat.
Finally get moving again and after one mistaken exit, find our way to
the campsite. No one's here yet!  Doff the leathers, admire the lake, 
stretch and crackle.  Unpack the remains of breakfast sent along by 
Sherry and start piling bacon and sausage patties on biscuits.  

Next - Part IV - "God Damn! This Place Is Full of BIKERS!"

Penny & Skiv