There I Was, by Vince Lubbers, Toad Hill Farm, KY
20 October 2009

Listening, just listening to the motor, I was in "Don't need no stinking GPS mode."  Curves by the bagful, running SR 127 north toward Rabbit Hash, Ky.  Keeping RPMs high and the song sweet.  Doing what the fella at the service station said:  Just follow those little rabbit 'balls' on the side of the road.  Lead you right there.  Can't miss it.

Getting in a pass before the double yellow I spot the SR 127 arrow to the right--but this truck is in the way.  The sky is blue, the sun is shining and I feel the warmth coming back into my right ear.  Yeah, don't need no stinking GPS--just follow those little black rabbit things.

Getting kinda narrow on this road thinks I.  But, sure enough, on the shoulder I see those little black rabbit balls.  No time to lose faith, just pile on the power.

Timex says I am running late, way late.

Nobody looking.  I reach into my pocket and pull out the great equalizer.   Garmie, color, full of juice.  I just grin that all knowing grin I had when I was 16.  Turn it on, and select Rabbit Hash.  Shoot fire, I got it memorized, I could feel my confidence rising.  Not much sun shining with the overhanging trees and all.

Gravel.  Gravel?  The is no gravel on the way to Rabbit Hash.  I give the Garmie a whack and that shakes it up.  Turn right.  Turn left.  Make a U'ie.  But I can't because the gravel road is too narrow.  Might be a driveway.

Uh oh.  I don't see any of those black rabbit ball droppings either.  That is not good.  At all.  Then a super loud beep, a flashing screen, and really big letters.  It was an absolute first.  The words you never want to see.  My ear was suddenly cold again.  The Garmie screen says:  YOU ARE LOST.  The Australian voice says "Who air Cost"  really fast which means nothing to me.  The screen goes crazy like it is having a migraine.  Suddenly I was alone.  You check the fuel gauge fast.  Real fast.  You can't help it.  It is a guy thing.

Now what?

Can I go through that gate?  That's my gate says the stranger.  I realize that, but I can see the power plant over the hill and it looks like I could get there if I could trouble you to use your gate.  Why would you want to go to the power plant?  Because then I could find my way to Rabbit Hash says I.  Well, why didn't you say so in the first place says the stranger.  Going to Rabbit Hash.  You must be a pilgrim!  I am, I am, I am a pilgrim for sure.

Creakity, creak, squeak and groan goes the gate.   Been a while ---  says the stranger and he knocks out his corncob pipe on the cobra's headlight.  I flinched, but not much.  I lose traction on the wet grass and nearly slide sideways into the gatepost.  It catches.  I make out like I planned it that way.  I pitch my Wal-Mart-designer sunglasses onto the passenger floorboards.  Low profile is my game.

Squeakity, squeak and another groan.  I am in. ---  Suddenly I am less sure than ever that this is where I truly want to be.  Just head for the top of the ridge and from there it is an easy drop down to the power station.  Just follow the black rabbit balls, you can't miss it.  I gun Ole Betsy.  Wow!  Slick.

Some readers have remarked that it is never quite this way on the group rides and cruises.
Sometimes you get lucky.

The stranger was right on.  Easy cross-country run to the power plant and then out onto Beaver Road just west of Big Bone Lick State Park.  I am back on schedule.   A few miles later the road drops like a rock toward the river and Rabbit Hash.  Screech!  Dog laying in the middle of the road.  It's Lucy Lou --- the town's newly elected mayor --- and she looks just like the poster pictures.  She checks out the cobra, looks inside for any bribes I might have brought along, and signals that I can go on into Rabbit Hash.  I smile and slip into a space between two Harleys and a Titan.


I stash my coat in the boot and notice that I spilled breakfast on my vest.  Durn.  It has dried on.  It will have to do.  I do not feel out of place at all.  Down-home maybe but not out of place.  About three seconds later the Titan owner drools on Ole Betsy and says:  I reckon you know you are driving my dream car.  Whereupon we launch into a series of lies that cannot possibly be repeated on a family oriented web site.  A small crowd developed as we exaggerated and squeezed the truth to an awful extent.  Finally, it ended with my saying that I surely admired that Titan and he admitted he that surely would like a cobra.  Kinda diplomatic and civilized.  Washington could learn a few things in Rabbit Hash.  The first lesson is never mess with Lucy Lou and always be respectful of your fellow riders.

That is the way it was in Rabbit Hash in October 2009.  That is the way it usually is.




Kentucky Cobra Club, Juan Lopez-Bonilla
1941 Bishop Ln, Suite 510, Louisville KY 40218