The Futura makes it Home

I had been looking forward to the final day of the ride for quite a while.  On this third day of the trip, I would be met by Don T in Temple, Texas, and we would ride into Houston together.  I took off from the Ole Nail House Inn at about 8:30, after having a wonderful and hearty breakfast.  The ride between  Albany and Comanche on highway 6 was just great.  The sun came out but the temperatures were nice, with very topographic roads to hold my ride.  I eventually crossed a town, and sadly I failed to notice the name, where I could still see a tribute to July 4th, and the field of flags begging us to remember all the treasures that God has made us  stewards of, through the selfless sacrifice of so many.

As I approached Temple from the North, I had the chance to witness the tremendous levels of flooding that had been brought about by rivers being fed by weeks of daily storms in the area.  Again I was thankful to God for keeping me safe and dry on this journey.  I rolled into Temple at noon, and being as ignorant as I was about the layout, or anything else for that matter, about this town, I started looking for the main square, which is where Don and I were  supposed to meet.  I finally settled for the visitors center and called my brother's cell phone, leaving him a message.  About 30 minutes later I heard the unmistakable rumble of Venga!, his Yamaha V-Star.

I cannot say how  grateful and fortunate I felt to have a friend and a brother that would ride up 180 miles to meet me and jump right back up on his bike for the ride home.  Well, in reality, we did hang out for a little while, got a good bite to eat and then started down back home.  

On the way up to Temple, Don noticed the 'Rusty Nuts Cycles" shop and we stopped to take a look but nobody was home.  Shortly after that I had to stop and refresh my contacts.  It was then that we met these other two guys, who were also riding in from Colorado on a couple of beamers.

We pushed forward in high spirits, enjoying the quiet fellowship that can only be grown and fostered by a shared motorcycle ride through God's country.  All through the day we had enjoyed sunny skies, but as we entered Houston from the north, we saw the graphite  curtains that the afternoon rains and storms were about to shower Houston with.  So we parted ways before we had planned, each trying to hit home as quickly as possible.  Don fared a lot better than I did.  While he made it in without getting hit by the storm, I was absolutely drenched over the last mile of the journey.