WATSONVILLE, CA to BARSTOW, CA (Monday, July 20, 2009)
4:00am - Honey looked beautiful, parked in front of Glenn's house, under the streetlight. She posed for me like the prized thoroughbred she is. A pack mule is dependable and functional, but Honey has those qualities and manages to do it with style. She is a magnificent beast.
As I was walking back inside after taking her picture, I dropped my brand new camera on the tile floor of the entryway. I took one picture with it the day before and downloaded it to my laptop to verify that it was gonna be compatible, but after it hit the floor, it instantly became a very expensive paperweight, which is not what I needed to take on my estimated 2,500 mile voyage with Glenn. I started to get upset, but remembered the big picture (yep, a pun already)… if this was the worst thing that happened to me on this trip, I would consider myself to be very lucky.
Glenn Kramer is one of my best and longest known friends. We grew up together in a small central California coastal community called La Selva Beach, and except for a 15-year period when we ran in different circles after high school, have been close friends our entire lives. He's my best client and one of my very best friends. He loves me, and I do not take that lightly.
I have met only a small handful of individuals who have been able to maintain their love for me for more than a few years or so. I am a very high maintenance individual. Demanding of myself and of others, especially when I care about them. Like my dear old mom used to say… "All I'm trying to do is help you to be perfect… just like me".
6:00am - Just like the last time I rode to Killeen (in October of 2008), my older brother Bev got up early and wished me a bon voyage. His dose of white light protective energy served me well on my last trip and I was pleased… no, I was honored to have him share his love and concern for me again. I love you Bev.
This time, his bon voyage included sharing his loving energy with Glenn as well as myself, and so it was that Glenn and I rode off into the cool foggy morning air with the clear feeling of joy and the confidence that our adventures would hold nothing but good things for us.
6:15am - Just outside Castroville… only 15 minutes into the ride, and Glenn was waving to me that he wanted to pull over. I thought maybe he wanted to adjust his load, or tell me I needed to adjust mine. We were both packed to the gills, and scattering any of our belongings along the side of the road was just not an option. Turned out, he wanted to drink the last of his coffee and have another cigarette.
It was his first trip of anything more than about 500 miles. Obviously his excitement about this adventure was tainting his realization that in order to accomplish our goal, we needed to continue moving for more than 15 minutes at a time.
7:00am - King City. Gas for our girls and food for the GMan, which was the road name he chose for himself. I was content with the name I had chosen for myself many years ago, when the idea struck me that a road name would be a fun idea… I am Thor Master of the Universe, but you can call me Thor for short.
At the filling station we met Bruce, a guy on the last leg of his adventure… an 8,000 mile loop from Los Angeles to Alaska (the Arctic Circle) and back. After he rode off, I remembered that the GMan was going to be responsible for taking pictures and I had forgotten to remind him of his duty.
Here are our faithful girls, obediently waiting for us outside a McDonald's
10:00am - Lost Hills. Highway 198 thru Coalinga had been as beautiful and invigorating as I had remembered from my return ride last year. We'd left the fog behind us… the sun was in our faces… and we stopped to strip down to our t-shirts.
10:15am - Just outside Lost Hills. After gassing up our girls, we decided to pull off and park under the shade of some trees just off the pavement, and enjoy a cool beverage...
... and for some unknown reason, the GMan decided he should drive his mare into a ditch.
While he was doing that, I was able to flag down Chris, who had pulled over in his truck for a rest. He was more than happy to help. I was surprised when Glenn didn't offer him any more of a reward than a 'thank you'.
Time lost: 45 minutes
11:00am - Back on the road, we were on our initial of several visits along Historic Route 66. Although the GMan said he was focused on making good time, we were in perfect agreement that our route should be planned, so as to be able to spend as much time as possible on this particular highway.
Noon - Glennville. Smoke and beer stop. GMan whined, "It's too hot… the road is too curvy… don't ride so fast". This was the first time I'd done one of my adventure rides with anyone else, and I remember thinking to myself… " Yep, this is gonna be a real adventure all right."
1:30pm - The southeast side of Lake Isabella. It was hot by now. I was following Glenn, and when he signaled, and pulled off the road under another tree, I cringed… if he got himself stuck again, I was gonna keep on goin'. Fortunately, he was able to park his bike without any mishaps this time. I didn't realize it then, but he was beginning to experience the first signs of dehydration, and his upcoming bout with heat stroke.
2:30pm - Inyokern… 115…. A HUNDRED AND FIFTEEN DEGREES. My skin was burning… not from the ultraviolet rays of the sun, but from the temperature of the air. Even at 80 mph, the humidity was probably only about 2%, so the wind chill was more like wind heat. After we gassed up, I downed a large bottle of water, and went inside for a cold beer. The GMan waited outside. Why… I have no idea.
As I was waiting in the checkout line in the store, I jokingly asked the clerk if I could drink my beer inside, in the coolness of the store. She said, "Sure, as long as you keep an eye out for a cop… they tend to frown on that." I thought she was kidding at first, but after realizing she was serious, I walked back to the cooler for another one, as I drank the one in my hand… gulp gulp, ahhh. I love you beer.
2:45pm - Seven miles short of Kramer Junction. Funny huh? Day One's route was taking us thru towns with my partner's first and last names. I pulled up alongside the GMan's bike, and motioned that it was already time for another beverage. His face was pale. He shook his head sideways, braked quickly, and stopped on the shoulder, about 50 feet short of a pull out area.
After parking and dismounting Honey in the pull out area, I strolled back to his bike. He was still sitting on it, not moving. I sensed something was not right. When I got to him, I saw his face and knew we were in trouble. I handed him and he finished the ½ bottle of water he had, and then walked slowly and carefully back down the shoulder of the road to get him my bottle from Honey's cooler.
I turned back about ½ way, and suggested that he pull his bike up to the turnout, so he would have more than about three feet of clearance between himself and the traffic screaming by at 70 mph (or more). All he was able to do was raise his hand and motion for me to continue to my bike and bring him the water.
When I got back to him, I poured some of it down his shirt and gave him the rest to drink. After about 45 minutes, he said he could ride, so we slowly and very carefully rode the seven miles into town.
4:00pm - We parked under a canopy at a closed Dairy Queen and Glenn collapsed on the concrete next to his bike. Kramer Junction wasn't much more than the second word in its name… an intersection of two lonely highways. We didn't have any ice or water, so after I suggested that Glenn move his body into the shade, I went across the street to get some. He was so out of it, that when he got off his bike, he splayed himself on his back on the concrete… about three feet from the shade, where both the air and the concrete were substantially cooler. Probably a cool 100 or so, which sounds strange, but when it's 115 in the direct sunlight, you really can tell the difference.
I came back with two 10-pound bags of ice and four 32-ounce bottles of water. I took one of the water bottles and a hand full of ice for myself, and then began the slow process of bringing Glenn back from the dead.
6:30pm - Three hours and forty-five minutes after stopping on the side of the road, just seven miles back… we headed off towards Barstow. I thought to myself… no I remember… I yelled it out to him… "Between your parking skills and your heat stroke, we've spent four and a half hours on the side of the road today. If this is your idea of making time, it's gonna be Christmas before we get to Texas."
He didn't want to… I could tell he was fighting it back… but I saw a tight-lipped smile escape, as he throttled up and pulled out to lead us into the old borax mining-town of Barstow, only about 30 minutes up the road.
7:00pm - Barstow. No camping out tonight. We pulled into the first motel we came to with a swimming pool and parking outside the door to the room.
We met Lindsey and Adrian from 'down under'. Two boomer babies from Australia, who were on their life-long dream vacation of following Route 66. They asked if they could drive along with us the following day. At first I thought they were gay, but after we spent some time with them over dinner at the Mexican Restaurant next door to the motel, I decided they were just happy.
I had asked Glenn if he was willing to buy me dinner, as a thank you for sticking with him during his times of trials and tribulations that day. He agreed and I told him he could choose the restaurant. He chose the one where my best choice for a meal was a $4.95 taco with rice and beans. I'd spent more than that on the water and ice that helped save his life.
9:30pm - into the local dive bar, The Mayan Temple, where we met Dave the barkeep and two patrons, Major Minor and Bob. I had one cocktail, and then went back to the motel room and directly to bed.
10pm - Day One complete. Not as good of a start as I'd hoped for, but I was satisfied and slept like a baby.
19¼ hours since I'd gotten up that morning; 16 hours since we left Glenn's house; and 443 of some very entertaining miles.
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