We unstrap the bucket of bones at a fuel stop in Ferdinand, Indiana. Kimmie Lou’s trip odometer reads 8 7/8, we almost didn’t have to look. Lizardu’s effect is still a swirl……..we sense a message, but it hasn’t fully formed yet (Kimmie Lou says she knows, but is waiting for us to figure it out on our own). From here she feels pretty strongly about proceeding West on I 64, but she is also being drawn South down Highway 162 to a place called Santa Claus. Most people are no longer processing Santa as real……everyone has settled for the myth, but the fucker is real – it’s just that we have all been on the naughty list for soooooo looooong – nobody’s seen him in like……..forever!
Next door is a Wendy’s…….. Baconator here we come. We park beside two Platinum Frankenstein Tricycle Harleys. Below is an example of one, substituted here to shroud the identities of the guys we came across.
This Harley is quite different from what the Brothers were on………we just figure it will help keep our Alien Readers interested. Frankenstein is an outfit outta Pleasanton, Kansas who sell bolt-up kits to covert your bike into a trike (Kimmie Lou says it just isn’t natural).
The two riders have a corner table where they can keep an eye on the bikes, we nod to them and one waves us over. As we slide into the booth it hits Ridicu right away (Holy shit! It’s those kooky twins…….from 497, remember?) I don’t remember, but something is vaguely familiar about these guys. “Hiya friend, I’m Frank and this is my brother Hank.” We shake hands, “when we were kids we used to run around on Kawasaki 125s that were almost as green as yours out there” says Hank. Folks on the plains are not animated or playful like Southern Folk…….I have begun to muzzle Ridicu slightly, “yeah, good old Kawasaki Green, did you grow up around here?” Just before biting back into some Spicy Chicken Hank says “Utah.” Their vibe isn’t exactly Mormon, but it’s close. Frank carries on for Hank, ” we have been here in Ferdinand since 1990, over at the Monastery.”
It’s just like Mistress Luscious Lasagna in the Hovercraft Caddy all over again, these two start pouring out their story, when it’s over we can’t decide which tale is weirder. These guys were Sisters of Saint Benedict until about 7 years ago when they both began doubting their devotion as Nuns. Not only that…….they just couldn’t carry on as females anymore! (C’mon you remember these gals, they ran that Teen Shooting Center in Austin……..they used to go on and on about straightening out society by having everyone pack a sidearm – that Frontier Justice rap, remember!) It takes a few more seconds to picture them without their wispy beards. “Wow! Francis and Henrietta…….really – it’s you?” Frank and Hank rear up a bit, then Hank says, “we never told you our old names, how’d you know.” “Well, they’re the feminine versions of Frank and Hank right?” Ridicu can really come through in a pinch sometimes.
Everybody awakens to their Indivisibility with different steps, some people just keep reworking their Individuality and don’t get around to their Indivisible – ever. Some sense both and glide between Individuality and Indivisibility easily, we have gone through dozens of worlds where we just didn’t grasp TWIW until the final chapter. Everybody is an Indivisible…….only you can’t slam it into them if they are still struggling with their Individual – it’s just not done. Our fascination with them is starting to show, Frank asks, “why are you looking at us like that?” Again, Ridicu covers nicely, “I kinda feel like two people myself sometimes and well………c’mon for Christ’s sakes – you’re Twin Transgender Biker-Nuns!” Everyone laughs for a stretch, “I mean I know you guys are now Maintenance and Groundskeeper staff, but you are still Nuns right?” “Yeah, we just can’t hit the showers with our sisters anymore” says Hank who goes on to explain how Mother Superior thinks masculinity is a “cross they must bear.”
There is a lot more laughter discussing life at the Monastery until Frank asks, “so which way are you headed?” Ridicu has been very well behaved so far……..if we start traveling with these guys, will he be able to keep it up? “West” and then add “but I may check out Santa Claus first” thinking this might give us the wiggle room we need to drift away from these two. “Screw Santa Claus!” bellows Hank (a few people nearby actually turn in their seats and look). “Yeah” adds Frank, “it’s a real shit hole……..ride with us – we are gonna hit a party at a friend’s tonight in Grayville, you can crash there too.” “Tomorrow we’ll be hauling ass to Denver, we wanna make the Iron Butt rally there this weekend, says Hank. “I don’t push Kimmie Lou all that hard, we probably couldn’t keep up with you on the freeway.” Frank and Hank smile, “wanna know what we call our bikes? asks Hank. “Only you can’t tell anyone” adds Frank.
It is agreed that Satan and Lucifer will be kept under 80 mph (130kph) until Grayville, tomorrow we will poke along while the trikes blast through to Denver. These Iron Butt guys are kinda great…….they have this thing called the 50cc which means you ride coast to coast in 50 hours or less, the 100ccc means you do a 50cc and then turn around and go back again in less than 50 hours – sick right! “If you assholes think sport bikes are so great, then go ahead and get one!” says Kimmie Lou as we hop back onto I 64 behind the Trikes. “Aw c’mon Kimmie Lou, you know you are far and away the best machine we ever had!” We keep making cuddly talk with Kimmie Lou until she doesn’t want to hear anymore, the Nuns are clipping along at 80 (130 kph) and cranking up to 90 (145 kph) regularly as they pass trucks. Kimmie Lou is a big single cylinder “Thumper”……..we rarely push her past 80 and the way we are loaded on this trip – 65 or 70 (110-120 kph) has been our average.
These guys don’t seem to be checking their mirrors as we drop back, eventually they are just specks on the horizon and man is that sky getting black. We watch the clouds for a few minutes and thankfully it appears the system is staying North of us, we notice an old beat up pick up with Kansas plates pulled over under an overpass ahead. As we rode by we saw the dude standing at the front of the truck looking North West at the storm system………this should have been our first clue, instead “probably just extra cautious being from Kansas and all.” We aren’t worried – it still looks like it is going to stay to the North of us……..then around a half mile later the road makes a long graceful turn and points North West and it appears to go straight for quite a while like this. Fuck.
With the sky getting blacker by the second we pull over and get into our rain gear, RidicuRyder has Stupidity down to a Science so we decide to press on – maybe we can make an exit before the worst of it – turning back was considered briefly, but scored low on the Adventure Riding Satisfaction & Entertainment Survey (ARSES) Ridicu keeps quoting at moments like these. As it starts to spit we see the sign for the Poseyville exit – Yeah Baby! Thirty Nine seconds later we are getting pelted pretty good and gusts around 50 mph (80 kph) are filing in. We would slow down but whatever is coming behind us won’t see us and we are pretty sure our momentum is keeping us from being blown off the road or worse – into the left lane. Kimmie Lou is banking harder than she did around turns on the Dragon……we are going straight but almost dragging a foot peg. When it occurs to us that we should have packed a snorkel a sanity override lever is flipped and we decide to turn hard right so that when we crash it will be a good distance off the road where we are less likely to be run over by a semi.
Kimmie Lou won’t turn…….we are being blown into the left lane and we are about to ease up on the steering slightly so we can tumble into the median when the wind drops off a little. Away we turn to the right, we are expecting a bumpity bounce crash into the grass and scrub bordering the freeway. The throttle has been rolled off for the impact that doesn’t come, then a break in the rain…….holy shit we are on the off ramp! Now the challenge is to keep Kimmie Lou upright, our speed has dropped considerably and the wind has us all over the place. A lightening flash gives us a glimpse of a large structure across the freeway and that nothing nearby is moving. Kimmie Lou settles down as we roll on a little throttle – ignoring the stop sign – we left turn onto the overpass with a little speed. Heading downwind is swift, we know the wind will feel like a sledge hammer again when we turn for the barn.
What looked like a barn is actually the Red Wagon Restaurant. We pull right into the patio under a large veranda, “do I look like a fucking submarine Morons!” sputters Kimmie Lou. We don’t say anything, this was worse than Splatlanta. Kimmie Lou is the first to break the silence with a chuckle, then I snort and Ridicu takes it away laughing like a hyena.“How the Hell did we make it through that alive?” Another lightening flash……….there – twenty feet away are Lucifer and Satan parked so close together they looked like a sedan.
Inside the restaurant Hank jumps up and gives us a hug, both he and Frank have been clutching their rosaries. Frank is helping us out of our rain gear, “didn’t you see us waving you on……to go faster – I kept pointing at the storm, you just started slowing down.” “Well, we’re Sailors……we’re used to being at sea in rough weather……we just figured better to slow down, put on our foul-weather gear and proceed cautiously.” “What’s with all this we shit?” asks Frank. It’s plain to see he is a little spooked, Ridicu has blown it, just like I knew he would. “Francis, Henrietta, there’s something we need to tell you……..”
A few hours later we have enjoyed a few rounds of wings and several Grapefruit & Tonics when the rain starts sounding like raindrops on the tin roof and not like chains, ball bearings, 45 gallon drums and Winnebagos are being dropped on it. The twins are sucking back their 5th or 6th Singapore Slings while sitting beside each other reading our Blog off the iPad (getting a little liquored up isn’t as tricky when you ride a trike). “So you guys are Megalomaniacs?” asks Frank. “Our therapist says we lack certain necessary Narcissistic markers and that Megalomania has no DSM code making it impossible to bill for.” Completely blank looks……..“We prefer to think of ourselves as End of the World Enthusiasts.” They both smile and look at each other, then back at us, “yeah” says Hank, “so are we!”