Road Kill Cafe

We were staying at a Howard Johnson’s motel outside of Albany, New York, and it was about 200 miles to Boston, Massachusetts. We had pedaled 3,200 miles together. Everyone’s emotions ran high, and in every direction. Some people were sad that the ride was almost over – they wanted to turn around and ride back to LA. Others were excited that the ride was almost over – they were ready to go home. Paul and I wanted to cram as much fun into the next 200 miles as possible. Usually our fun was innocent fun. Innocent fun is when someone has fun, at no one else’s expense. No one suffers with innocent fun. Most of the fun we had was innocent fun. We weren’t really trying to anger or upset anyone when we pedaled out of the Howard Johnson’s parking lot in Albany, New York. That said, nearly 30 years later, there are probably at least two women who are still pissed off at us.

Joann and Bonnie were girlfriends from Champaign, Illinois. Joann owned a beauty parlor. They were nice woman, but easily offended. They had been staying clear of Rader since Los Angeles, and I became guilty by association once Radar signed on to ride with me. They had raised a lot of money for PETA – People for the Ethical Treatment of Animals. I think Dr. Dave wanted to kill Joann and Bonnie, because they had a knack for finding wounded animals on the side of the road and asking Dr. Dave to fix them. A bird with a broken wing, a frog with a broken leg, a field mouse that had been attacked. Dave always wrapped the animals in gauze, and then Joann and Bonnie would watch the animals die. And then they would ask the hotel maintenance man for a shovel so they could provide a proper burial. I like animals, but those two women were ridiculous.

The Road Kill Cafe was a joke. When we were in New Mexico, trying to hide from the rain, there was a truck stop and they had some Road Kill Cafe swag. I bought a beer can holder that lists the types of road kill you can have barbecued, baked, fried, etc. Someone bought a t-shirt. Someone else bought a hat. There were about 10 riders that wasted money on Road Kill Cafe swag. My point is, throughout the ride Road Kill Cafe was in our collective consciousness.

Rader and I decided on a plan. We needed two people to help us pull it off, and we knew exactly who we needed.

Paul Gratkowski was from Peoria, Illinois, and he worked at a pet store. He was accustomed to handling animals, usually alive, sometimes dead.

Thomas Howard was an Emergency Room nurse from Indianapolis. He was accustomed to handling blood and guts.

The four of us agreed that we would remain on Glenn and Rader time. 3:30 a.m wheels on the ground. We met in the parking lot. Our assets: a couple of pieces of chalk; several pair of medical gloves that Tom had gotten from Dr. Dave; a table setting from the Howard Johnson’s restaurant including place mat, plate, bowl, cup, coffee cup, fork, knife, spoon, menu, and the sugar/Sweet and Lo holder, and ketchup. I loaded all of these items into my panniers.

We needed one more thing to complete our mission, and we were searching along the side of the roads as we pedaled into the morning darkness.

Ten miles turned into 20, into 30, into 40 and still we couldn’t find anything that suited our needs.

“This is insane,” Tom said. “We’ve never gone 40 miles straight without coming across some nasty road kill. Did someone clean up the neighborhood last night?”

Finally we found what we were looking for, and it was in a perfect location. We were now on a side road, with minimal local traffic, with a medium-sized shoulder. I took out the 8 mm camera and started rolling film.

Tom put on a pair of medical gloves. “It’s still warm,” he said, holding up a full-sized raccoon by it’s tail. “He most have gotten hit last night.”

Blood was draining from the poor animal’s mouth, but otherwise it looked okay, like it was sleeping.

“He must have gotten his head banged when a car drove over him. No guts sticking out, thank goodness. Probably died instantly,” Paul Gratkowski said, trying to lighten the mood a bit because he must have sensed we all felt bad for the animal.

“This is going to be awesome! Joann and Bonnie are going to want to kill us. How far to Boston?” Rader asked. Whatever sorrow he felt for the raccoon was overshadowed by the thought of two PETA advocates who hated him, pedaling past our Pedal For Power masterpiece.

“About 160 miles,” I answered. “We can make it there unsupported if Tom and Doug throw us off the ride now,” I answered.

And then we got to work.

Rader took out the chalk and walked down the road about 100 yards in the direction we had come.

“ROAD KILL CAFE,” he wrote in big pink letters, about 12” tall, large enough so that riders could read it easily, even in a pace line going 20+ miles per hour.

25 yards closer to the raccoon. “OPEN ALL DAY.”

25 yards closer, and he repeated “ROAD KILL CAFE”

I was setting the table. I laid the Howard Johnson’s place mat on the shoulder of the road. I put out the plate, bowl, cups, fork, knife, spoon, menu, and the sugar/Sweet and Lo holder.

I was video-taping the entire scene. Tom Howard played maitre’d and Paul Gratkowski was the 5-star restaurant patron.

“Our special for the day, sir, is fresh raccoon,” Tom informed Paul in his best french accent. “We prepare it baked, broiled, or fried. I highly recommend it. It just came in fresh this morning.”

Paul sat down on the side of the road at the table setting.

“I’m starving,” Paul said. “That sounds delicious. And I’m really in the mood for fresh raccoon.”

With that, Tom laid the poor dead raccoon across the plate. Paul picked up the fork and knife and proceeded to dig in.

“Delicious,” he said, pretending to chew.

After about 30 seconds, though, Paul had to admit that the dead raccoon smelled awful, and he was about to puke.

“And I’ve worked in a pet store for the past 5 years,” Paul said.

We brought the Road Kill Cafe to life. We left the scene as it was so that all of the other 56 riders could enjoy our handy work. Then, we pedaled as fast as we could to our next hotel, in Greenfield, Massachusetts. We checked into our rooms, showered, changed, and were enjoying some beers at the pool when the other riders started to arrive.

I was surprised; the reviews were overwhelmingly positive.

“You guys are crazy!”

“Insane!”

“Whose idea was that?”

“What next?”

And then Doug called us into his hotel room. Uh oh. Time to start pedaling to Boston. I wondered if he was going to at least allow us to sleep at the hotel that night, since we had already checked in.

He shut the door, and made sure the window blinds were completely shut.

“That was awesome!” he said, high-fiving us all around. “You guys are all insane. I’m going to miss you, and your seven legs.”

Relief all around.

“But if you tell anyone that I said that before we get out of Boston and are all home, I’m going to kill every one of you. I’ve got to deal with Bonnie and Joann now. Maybe I should just buy them a puppy,” he said.

We left his hotel room and returned to our beers at the pool. Mission accomplished. Rader and I had outdone ourselves. We had 56 riders either hysterical laughing, or at least shaking their heads in something like admiration for our creativity. And we had two really pissed off PETA fund-raisers. I slept with my door locked that night, for sure!

Two days later, we pedaled into Boston. My family met me at the finish line. We all partied one more time at the hotel that night, and then the 60 of us went our separate directions. I’ve stayed in touch with a few of the riders, especially Andy Cuddihy. I haven’t written about Andy yet, but I will soon.

If you’d like to watch the Road Kill Cafe video, please see the attached link. If the link doesn’t work, look on YouTube for “Pedal For Power 1992 Road Kill Cafe.”