Australian Road Rider — August 2017

ride east on 50, which becomes Interstate 35

for a while as it traverses the Flint Hills and

bypasses Kansas City en route to Missouri. I’m

keeping an eye out for tornados and expecting

at the very least the mother of all rainstorms.

When it happens, I’m grateful.

It’s spring in Missouri and I ride through

lush, green cornfi elds as 50 climbs into the

Ozark Hills, east of Jeff erson City. I pass by St

Louis to the south and catch a glimpse of its

famous arch through the gloom.

The Ultra off ers reasonable wet weather

protection but the fairing has clear plastic

wings on its lower trailing edge that direct

water straight onto my knees from where, of

course, it ends up in my @#$%ing boots. My

gloves are also saturated in no time fl at.

I hammer through the rain, which persists

for the day it takes me to traverse the southern

end of Missouri and Indiana. When the sun

returns, I’m in Madison, Indiana, one of

America’s best-preserved old towns on the

banks of the Ohio River. Across the river,

massive power stations belch burnt Kentucky

coal into decidedly unclear skies.

The terrain becomes hilly and forested as

I cross into Ohio then fl a ens out again as

50 heads into more wheat country. Lunch is

a banana shake at the Buckeye Dairy Bar in

Hillsboro. It’s got real bananas in it. See, you

can fi nd decent road food in America.

The states are smaller and more tightly

packed on the eastern side of the US, which

is also where most of the population lives,

so there’s a lot more traffi c now on Route 50.

Still, as we cross into West Virginia and ride

across the northern end of the Allegheny and

Appalachian mountains, I get the sense that

by US standards this is remote country — not

quite hillbilly territory but close enough to

hear the banjoes playing.

I stop for gas at a lonely roadhouse in the

forest. They sell fuel, coff ee, Glock, Luger and

Bere a pistols, rifl es, semi-automatics and

machine guns, including an M60 that can fi re

500–650 rounds per minute. The nice man

shows me an AK45 semi-automatic assault rifl e

that I can have for just $745. I hate guns but

this is probably the only chance I’ll have in my

life to hold such a serious killing apparatus. It’s

bizarre beyond words. I’m in a petrol station,

for God’s sake. A couple of li le old ladies are

buying Twinkie bars at the counter next to me.

Because I’m from out of state, I can’t just

hand over the cash and take my new gun

like a local. He’ll have to do a check on me

fi rst, just to make sure I’m not a pacifi st or a

Democrat. It’ll take about 10 minutes, he says.

“Think. Dream. Enjoy.

Tell yourself that in a

few days you will wish

you were still out here.

It’s true”

r A sign of times gone by. Magnifi cent country homes still dot the landscape on Route 50.

r The Boardwalk, Ocean City, Maryland.

70 | AUSTRALIAN ROAD RIDER

ROUTE 50: THE LONELIEST ROAD IN AMERICA PART II

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