It’s a couple of days after 2023 NTNOA annual “Hill Country Ride” to Leakey, Texas. I’m home, safe, relaxed, grateful and pensive, reflecting on the events of the last few days.

We stayed in old, cedar-finished rooms in Leakey, Texas at the “Historic Leakey Inn”. The hotel looks like it accommodates one hundred sleepers, has a nice bar, restaurant, a pavilion and plenty of shaded parking. Not at all fancy, but lots of ambience including a small, stone mausoleum in which three town residents now reside perpetually. It’s clearly the perfect place to host a crew like the North Texas Norton Owner’s Association for its annual ride.

The town of Leakey roughly intersects the "Three Sisters". According to Google, the "Three Sisters" comprise three mountain ranges that include the Chisos and Guadalupe Mountains, and the Santa Elena Canyon. The roads through this miraculous convergence offer a variety of twists, turns, ups, downs, challenges and vistas for hikers, motorcycle and other wheeled sport riders. From winding roads through the Chisos Mountains to challenging off-road trails in and through the Guadalupe Mountains, there’s enough to see and experience for many visits in every season. The "Three Sisters" are Texas Ranch to Market Roads, 335, 336 and 337. In fact, we traveled many roads, but the “Twelve or Thirteen Sisters” lacks the whimsical romanticism of “Three Sisters”.

RM 336 runs east-west through Leakey, Highway 83 runs roughly north-south and leads one to Garner State Park and the Guadalupe Mountains National Park. From our cabins at Historic Leakey Inn, RM 337 runs north-south through Leakey and takes you into Lost Maples State Natural Area and onto a veritable cornucopia of other cool roads and eateries. RM 1120 runs east-west through Leakey, and twists and turns through the towns of Junction, Harpers, Vanderpool and Camp Wood. Highway 470 runs east-west and takes you to Tarpley and Utopia. Highway 16 weaves its way north-south and takes you through Pipe Creek, Bandera, Medina, Kerrville and Fredericksburg. Hiway 39 winds east-west from Kerrville through Ingram and Hunt and back to TX 83 and Leakey. We rode them all and then some; though in what order or direction I could not tell you. I was hanging on for dear life!

It’s cold outside this morning; 49 degrees Fahrenheit. Kickstands up at 9:00 am. We begin. Seven of us in our little group. I slide in last, not certain I’ll be able to keep up. My 2001 Valkyrie’s one heavy chunk of metal.

Thank-you Father, Son and Holy Spirit for the sunrise, the sunshine, the doves, whippoorwills and other birds whistling at each other over the camp noises, the crisp chill in the air, the new growing season and the beautiful plant blossoms! Thanks as well for the stillness of the morning, for the phases of the blooms I’ve been enjoying since late March, for the rain we had yesterday, for the sunshine and cool breezes we’ve enjoyed since then and for the hope of rain throughout next week. Thanks as well for the childlike wonder that pervaded all the rides this weekend.

Thanks too for the images: School busses stopping to unload their bouncy cargo of precious kiddos completely unaware of the silliness and sadness that seems to define this world sometimes. That’s all somewhere else this weekend. This weekend is unadulterated goodness. The two-finger acknowledgement you give to and receive from experienced passing motorcyclists as you round each corner along the ride. Crisp, chill in the morning breeze gives way to radiant heat by noon and a plethora of flying insects; things of beauty and delicacy until they fatefully choose to fly into my windshield and I helplessly take their lives. Countless rock formations, dips, curves, hills, dales, Leakey Inn at night – a semi-organized collection of party gatherings traditionally hosted by some of the more outgoing, generous and well stocked members of the club. Note to self – Take more comfortable lawn chairs next time. Draw a crowd. Maybe feed them for tips and see what happens.

What are those little blue, yellow, bright and pale orange flowers that border the hill country roads so profusely? Was like driving through a Van Gough still life or a Paul Matisse dreamscape from dawn through dusk. What are those giant, white trees lining the banks of the Guadalupe River as we pass into and through Kerrville? Reminded me of the Giant White Oaks from the Georgia coast mentioned in Jefferson’s “Six Frigates: The Epic History of the Founding of the U.S. Navy”. Sounds. Images. Smells. Impressions. Emotions. Total absorption with the experience!

A pleasant form of mesmerism occurs almost immediately upon easing out of neutral and onto the road - "hypnofocus", I dubbed it - A serene state of symbiosis with the road, my bike, nature and the sights, sounds, smells, tastes and feelings in which I’m immersed. An acute awareness of everything pervading my reality while riding. The sound of the bike. Is it smooth? Does it rev with consistent power? Does it slow sufficiently when I downshift into the curves such that I don’t have to use my brakes? Are there any strange or unacceptable noises? Not this time. Punch it!

Five mile an hour curves were intense. No room for error or any lack of concentration. Many such curves were in falling rock zones and I barely missed dangerous rubble a couple of times. I’m glad my tires performed as well as they did! Still, the feeling of bliss that accompanies the smooth, execution of each successive curve is sweetly addictive.

What’s that on the road?

Grass. I better turn gently lest I slip on the moisture crushed from their delicate stems if they’re wet, or slide on their dust if they’re dry. Glad I’m riding last right now. It’s reassuring to know everyone else made it past!

Pebbles. I had better avoid leaning the bike at all lest I roll and drop in their ball bearing like grip.

Tree branches. Can I run them over without flattening my tires or dumping the bike or jettisoning the fragments at the guys riding behind me? Then do. If not, then dodge them or press hard on the brakes and stop, using them like counter balanced brakes... If I lose control, do I force the bike down as gracefully as possible or leap from the machine and allow each of us to deal with physics of crash reality on our own?

Water. A thousand different possibilities. Is it running? Is it deep? How deep? Is there oil on or in it? Be VERY, VERY careful! Motorcycles, cruisers, aren’t well suited for aqueous pursuits.

Or it’s another turn. How fast to take it? Which way to lean? What’s the guy in front of me doing? Is my bike similar enough to his to try to match his move? If so, do that. If not, pull back and approach the curve a little more slowly taking care to press the bike down, away from the curve and allow your body weight to press the bike down in the direction opposite the curve; stay in the center of the road, watch for obstacles, maintain control. For God’s sake, don’t use the front brake! Is the bike behind me too close? Speed up a little. Don’t take foolish chances!

If it’s a smooth straightaway with clear visibility far off until the next turn, hill or other adventure. Do I slow down to burn this glorious view into my soul, or do I see just how fast I can accelerate to before I have to back off and prepare for what’s over the next hill or around the next curve, or unknown? This time I’ll press it. 140+ mph is nirvana! Can I do it? No, the next blind spot’s too near. Today I’ll let off the throttle, lift my visor just a bit to let in some fresh air, take a huge breath and reconnoiter the view in the hope I’ll remember it in detail in at least one of my dreams tonight.

My hat’s off to today’s point man setting the pace and sacrificing himself for the benefit of the rest of the group following his pace and maneuvers. He intuitively knew exactly how fast I could go without scaring the peejeebers out of me and risk ruining the ride for me and the rest of the group. He hit every turn at just the right speed for my skill level!

Thank God as well for the views and the county for the speed limit and warning signs all along the road. The signs are indispensable imperatives for thoughtful riders and necessary intrusion into the most inexplicable beauty that is the "Hill Country" ride.

God, I love this!

The ""Hill Country" is indeed a fine ride. Winding our way through a series of tight curves, we finish the last one and behold a jaw-dropping vista of the ancient landscape bespeckled with tribes of sleeping giants: Ageless goliaths slumbering in odd positions throughout the distance like an ancient indigenous campsite at dawn following a long night of ritual and revelry. Oops! There goes another butterfly. Death. Speed. Wonder. Thrill. Fear. Joy. Peace. Thankfulness. Adrenaline and Hope. All in an instant. Times a million!

The views extend for miles and miles and miles. On some breakouts the view is narrow and in only one direction. On others, you can see two hundred and seventy degrees of seemingly unspoiled hill country filled with cactus, cedar trees, post and scrub oaks, cattle, deer, the occasional buffalo, horses and a thousand other critters. Tiny, vibrant, yellow, orange, red and blue flowers blanket the hillsides and make it difficult to focus on the road. The beauty of the vistas, the skill and camaraderie of the group and the perfection of the weather defy description. Just perfect!

Watch out for road junk! Death and suffering hide in that detritus.

Around one curve, we startled a deer caught near the road between parallel rows of high fence. It was stuck, scared spitless and darting at lightning speed as all seven of us drove past it. The look of sheer terror in its eyes and body language made me pity it, but I felt compelled to punch the throttle and get by it lest the poor thing bolt across the road in front of us and ruin the lives of both deer and riders. It finally pushed through a hole in the fence line and disappeared from view.

At our next stop, our Randy advised there were two deer when he first drove past them and they were so close, he doubted he’d have time to react defensively if one or both of them decided to jump in front of him. He thought about stopping, but it was a blind curve and thought better of it for the good of the group. Wise man!

Cabin side stories told of ex-companions who’d died from encounters with deer and other critters. Part of the reality of the riding experience includes the knowledge that you never know what’s around the next bend. It’s not enough to slow down enough to make the curve, you know you have to be ready to twerk the bike in a split second to avoid whatever surprise insinuates itself into your path!

The club companionship was exceptional. Hank and wife, Arlene, were a rare find this weekend. Philosophers. People watchers. Critical analytical thinkers. Would like to have talked more to them about things of importance to our lives and society and about what each of us can and should do with our giftednesses. Brent, Bruce, Cathy, Chris, Efrem, Gator, Jack, Larry, Paul, Randy1, Randy2, Randy3 and Robert were adjacent camp buddies. A finer group of humans may exist, but I have yet to meet them. And boy could they all ride! Safe. Smooth. Considerate. Skilled. Thoughtful. Generous. What a blessing! Not what I expected from a “bike club”. I’ve ridden with many others, but never with a better group.

Back at headquarters from the second day’s ride, it’s time to pack up. Day 2 was as magic as day one. I felt a lot like I did as a kid when we had to take down the Christmas decorations. Warm glow of the season, thankful for all the goodies, but burdened with a little sadness that it has to end. Everyone on our end of camp helped everyone else load their bikes, strap them down and get ready to roll out the next morning.

What an experience!

Good to get out there. Good to get home.

Best do it again!