Destination: Lake Texoma & Catfish Platter Inc.

People don't normally ride 125+ miles each way just for dinner, but then we've already established that I'm not normal. Lately, I've been starting to think of mine as a "restless existence" (a term borrowed from Neil Peart, to be perfectly honest about it). Give me time, and I'll try to put what I mean by that into words here in a future blog entry. Essentially, though, I think it all boils down to an addiction to motion, an affliction in which my brain, my heart, the very interaction of the molecules that make up my being simply can't sit still. Let's go somewhere, my soul whispers. Why are we sitting here at home when we could be jamming to the wind and the hum of the tires on pavement? I don't even try to fight these feelings. The only question is what motorcycle to take ... though I do worry quite often about how I will afford tires and gas!

Anyway, when my friends Greg and Elaine, who live in the Dallas-Fort Worth area, mentioned a great catfish restaurant near Lake Texoma, what else would you expect me to say except "I'll meet you there for dinner." It's been a while since the ZZR has gone anywhere except back and forth to work, so that's what got rolled out of the garage today. I've yet to find a more comfortable rocketship.

The mighty Kawasaki ZZR1200.

Now I could buzz down I-35, but that's just not me. I worked my way south via backroads, including Highway 102 and the old one lane bridge just north of Byars. I don't know why, but old bridges seem to intrigue adventure riders. It's probably the ephemeral nature of these old structures that resonates with us: the certain knowledge that eventually the ever expanding flow of 4-wheeled traffic will spell the end of the old bridge; the fact that its rusty iron charisma will eventually be replaced with a concrete structure that looks just like every other bridge and overpass they're building these days. A bridge can have a personality, don't you think?

Objects in the rearview mirror...

Highway 177 carried me south through Sulphur and Madill. From Madill, 377 takes you south toward the lake and the smell of catfish fillets fryin' up crispy golden brown. If you cross the bridge over the lake and hit the Texas border, you've gone too far. You want to get to the Catfish Platter early, because the place definitely draws a crowd. As the sign says, they're only open three nights a week.

If you see this sign, you've gone too far.

Greg and Elaine arrive on their new Goldwing.

I only beat my friends by about 20 minutes -- perfect timing, more or less. Just enough time, in fact, to take a quick look at the lake. I was home before dark, avoiding the nightly roadway wanderings of forest rats (i.e., deer) and even escaping detection by the local revenue collectors sitting with their radar guns at both ends of the town of Asher (jeez, guys, get a friggin' life already!) -- thanks in part to all the friendly motorists madly flashing their lights at me.

All in all, a great day's ride, a great dinner, and absolutely great company. Thanks, Greg and Elaine!

Any suggestions for dinner next weekend?