DAY ONE - Friday, October 24, 2008
3:55am - I was almost exactly on schedule. Honey had been idling for about five or six minutes… I had just finished my morning beer and cigarette… and was just about to throw my leg over my best girl, when I saw a pair of headlights coming up my dead end street. As they got closer, the car slowed down and then I realized it was my brother Bev. What in the heck? I walked to the back of Honey, and unzipped the top right side pocket of her tail bag, and popped a breath mint into my mouth. I knew he was there to give me a good-bye/ good-luck hug, and I didn't want him to smell the beer on my breath, and worry about my sanity. I knew he already had enough reasons to worry about that, and I didn't want to give him any more fuel for his (very well intentioned) fire.
He walked up to me, handed me $80 dollars and told me to stick it somewhere safe, and use it to buy him a gift along the way, or for gas or some other necessity, should trouble arise. I didn't tell him that my first thought was to use it for a full body massage with a happy ending at one of my layovers.
Bev is 14 years older than me, and our personalities are about as widely spread. He doesn't like to express his emotions the way I do. I feel I would explode if I didn't. He feels he might if he did. Yes, we are quite different in our methodologies, but very much alike in our foundation. We were raised by the same parents, and have been instilled with the same sense of respect and sincere care for other people. Not only for family… for everyone.
As he put both hands firmly and gently on my shoulders, he sheepishly said, "I wanted to see you off on your trip, and give you my sincere hope for a safe journey." I could see his eyes were watering, as he held his gaze steadily and directly into my eyes. This was as much emotion as I could ever recall seeing from Bev. I told him I would accept his gift of white light protective energy, and would keep it at the forefront of my awareness during the entire duration of my voyage.
4:10am - The Adventure Begins.
The next several days will be difficult for me to remember in any detail, because of the unfortunate mistake I made the second day after leaving Phoenix. At one of my stops, I had ridden off with my journal sitting on top of my saddlebag. I have waited several weeks after my return, to write this story, in the hopes of finding it in my post office box… being returned by a courteous soul after they found it… laying on the side of the road near the Dairy Queen I had stopped at, in Lamesa, Texas. Fortunately, I have the 'posts' I was doing along the way on the website I recently joined, for the 'old timers' who grew up in La Selva Beach, and I also have the pictures I took at most of my stops.
First Stop, Gonzales… just south of Salinas. I wish I would've put on my thermal underwear and wool socks. After leaving the coast, before the sun even started to rise, which is normally the coldest time of the day… I was frozen solid. The air had gotten much more humid and I had been traveling thru a light fog for the last half an hour or so. The temperature had dropped from a dry 50 degrees to a wet 40, but at my cruising speed of around 80mph and the increased humidity, the wind chill was probably about 20. I tried to find an open gas station to buy some coffee, but was only able to find the gas. I stomped my feet in a marching fashion, as I smoked my cigarette… then put on my heavy gloves and took off, laughing out loud to myself… amused at my feelings of discomfort, after only a little under an hour into my trip. I tried to remind myself that soon I would be complaining because of the heat, as I was going thru Barstow and the Mojave Desert.
I was going south on Hwy 101, and I hadn't been back on the road very long, when I decided to pull over again and put on my under-gloves. King City was still asleep, and I grumbled to myself in the dark, for not putting on the extra layer a few miles back. Dusk was arriving and I knew it was gonna get even colder.
The sun was just about to peek over the horizon, as I pulled into Paso Robles. This is where I was gonna turn east on Hwy 46. Time for more gas, and finally someplace was open for me to buy some coffee. As I walked into the McDonald's next to the gas station, I was greeted by someone who I thought had long ago died. It was a life- sized Elvis statue, right in the middle of the dining area. Pretty funny. We had a nice conversation, mostly about the dramatic decline in the character of a lot of the recent music stars of the day… Britney Spears was one of the names he brought up. I decided to cut him some slack, and not remind him that his own past wasn't completely untarnished.
Yes, I was having a conversation with a statue. My mind never stops turning, and I have found that if I try to silence my thoughts, they only get louder. Besides, I was gonna be alone for the better part of the next two weeks, and I decided it would not be a bad thing for me to get to know my selves a little better along the way. That reminds me, I haven't really explained the title of this story yet.
I have always had conversations with myself. Ever since I was a child, I felt there were several distinctly different personalities inside me. I've never worried about it… in fact, I've been grateful and nurturing towards them. Most of them don't seem to fit into the mainstream of the world I live in, so I've learned to try to limit the 'off the wall' things that come across my mind. I've always said… "Even when I'm alone, I have someone to talk to," or… "I talk to myself because no one else listens to me." In any case, the people who know me can attest to how many different Neds there are. Most of the Neds are pretty good guys, so my real friends are tolerant of the ones who aren't quite as nice.
The next stop was near the junction of Hwy 46 and I-5, in the center of the California Central Valley. It had taken me the better part of about 30 minutes to warm up, as I chatted with Elvis at the McDonalds, and it turned out to be a good choice, as it gave the rising sun a chance to start to warm the air. It was gonna be a spectacular first day weather-wise, and as I took off my sweater I was wearing under my leather jacket and changed into my medium warmth gloves, I knew this trip was going to be just what I needed. A breath of fresh air is so cliché, but that really is one of the reasons I decided to make this trip. I needed to separate my selves from the recent stress I was under, and think about something else for a while. Don’t worry… you'll hear about what kind of stresses I had on me at the time.
My next stop was about half way between Bakersfield and Barstow. I think it was probably around 11am or so, and I pulled off to the side of the road to strip off some more layers, and put on my lightweight gloves. As I feared, it was already getting hot. I smiled because I knew that as long as I didn't get any bad weather, the rest of the trip was gonna be very warm and pleasant. This was a perfect time of year to ride thru the Southwest. The issues I left at home were behind me, and I was already feeling rejuvenated. Honey and I were as happy as happy could be.
It was around 2pm-ish when I stopped again. I remember the time because I remember thinking that I was 2 hours late at having my first beer of the ride. The first one didn't count… my ride hadn't officially started when I had my morning beer. Ludlow is a stop I've made several times in the past. There's a coffee shop (about the only thing there), which is run by two older ladies who claim to be NOT related, but look like identical twins. I walked in and asked the young girl who greeted me if the sisters were there, and she said they had the day off. I tried to put a cute pout on my face for her, and said with a cute smile, "No worries… may I have a beer… Bud in a can if you got it". She told me that Ludlow was a dry town. Wow… all the times I've stopped here and I had never asked for a beer before. Every once in a while I get reminders of how much my drinking habits have changed.
It's nothing to be proud of, but for most of my life I wouldn't be without an open can of Bud between my legs while I was driving. When I was in the required 'treatment program' after getting my DUI a few years ago, I learned an interesting factoid. Apparently, the statistics show… on average… when you are behind the wheel after having had any amount of alcohol… something bad will happen 1 out of 300 times. That may seem like pretty good odds, but check this out…
… After doing a very honest and conservative estimate, I came up the fact that I had been behind the wheel over 7,000 times without ONE incident. I started to raise my hand, as my first instinct was to brag about how good I was at breaking the law, but then it hit me… I should be grateful that I was so lucky, not proud of it.
That was the first moment I can ever remember thinking that I was gonna stop making drinking and driving such a routine part of my life. The fact is, I've been a changed man since that moment. I used to drink an average of at least 12 beers a day. I'd usually start around 9am, and drink a six-pack during the day, then polish off the rest of the 12-pack that evening.
Since my DUI, I think my average intake is more like two per day. Sometimes I feel boring (and/ or bored) with the difference in my thought process and behavior, but most of the time I feel good about myself. I also started going to the gym on a regular basis.
The upcoming ½ century mark of my life had put a different attitude in place for me. I realized that I was obviously going to live longer than I had predicted, and that if I didn't start taking better care of myself, the last part of my life was gonna be hard on me. I still thank the 'gods' for allowing me to 'beg' for my DUI. Besides the financial and embarrassment factors, it was one of the best things that ever happened to me. Here's the way it played out:
It was five years ago (October of '03), when I was going home from an afternoon at a Renaissance Faire, and I had had about seven or eight dark beers… grog, they called it. My body had gotten very proficient at processing the alcohol I put in it, and I con-sidered my selves to be professionals, and felt proud of the way we could drink. Anyway… when the cop pulled me over and wrote me a ticket for an unsafe pass, I could have gotten on my bike and rode away. He 'tried' to 'only' give me a speeding ticket, but I decided foolishly to make him a counter-offer. This is where my life made a dramatic change…
Instead of thanking my lucky stars for once again, 'getting away with it'… I got back off the bike and walked up to the cop. This is how cocky I had become about my drinking and driving. I knew I was most likely over the limit, but I had gotten to the point where I thought I was invincible. In a very polite and respectful voice, I told the cop that he might want to consider attending my court appearance, as I was planning on trying to convince the judge that the pass I had made was not an unsafe maneuver.
I recall the cop simply shrugging his shoulders, but still… I couldn't let it go. I began to explain to the cop what my argument was gonna be (how freaking stupid could I be?) This is how 'necessary' it was for me to get some help with my drinking. I told the cop that passing the two cars at once was MUCH safer than passing one car and then trying to squeeze my bike in between them… and then pass the second car.
After I had finally finished my polite and respectful tirade, the cop looked at me sadly, and said, "Oh… I didn't smell the beer on your breath before… please step over here." I know I passed all his tests, but then he said there was one last test to take.
I blew into the little mouthpiece and he showed me what the machine indicated. It showed 0.108, and my first thought was; wow… all those beers and ONLY a 108… that's pretty good!
It wasn't until the handcuffs started to really hurt, sitting in the back of his car, about ½ way to the Santa Cruz Jail, that I started thinking that I had made a mistake. Not about drinking and driving. That realization wouldn't happen for several weeks later at the treatment program. I was mad at myself for the mistake of not riding away from the scene of the crime, happy to only have gotten an unsafe pass ticket.
My cockiness about my supreme ability to drink and drive safely was astounding. It's embarrassing to admit how deluded I was at the time, but at least I was able to learn my lesson before anyone got hurt.
As I filled up Honey's tank, I was grateful that Ludlow had reminded me that one out of seven thousand was a statistic that I should consider a miracle, and that I should not push my luck any more than necessary.
Before leaving Ludlow, I met and chatted with two fellow biker brothers. Dirt was heading east, with his custom show bike on his trailer… and Rob was heading west, riding his sport touring BMW loaded to the gills. I love how different bikers can be, but still be members of the same brotherhood.
Yes, there is the occasional dick wad, who thinks his bike is better than yours, but fortunately there are less and less Harleys on the road these days. Most of them are stranded on the side of the road, or broken down in their owners' garages. KIDDING… I don't have anything against Harleys… I just like giving them shit sometimes.
For some reason, I'm really lucky. Almost every single time I tease someone… they just smile back at me, without taking any offense. I guess I'm pretty expressive with my body language and facial expressions, to be clear to the recipient that my taunt is only a good-natured jab, and that I am not being mean.
Sometimes, I have to shake my head in disbelief, after the confrontation is over. I think I should have been (justifiably) punched (or slapped) in the face on more than a few occasions.
My next stop was in Needles around 3pm-ish, and it was very warm by then… around 95 as I recall. I had stopped at an auto repair place as I was getting to the outskirts of town… deciding at the last moment, to make my first sit down stop of the day. The mechanic gave me directions to a local watering hole, which I found without any trouble. Besides finding the saloon, I also found a couple of new friends there. I have a $5 token for a beverage of my choice, and a business card from the owner.
'JP' and 'Cisco' were patrons of Brenda's establishment. I took one of her business cards 'cuz she specifically requested that I e-send her a copy of my story, so she could post it on her website. She told me that she caters to bikers and says her establishment (BK's Pepper Lounge located on Historic Route 66) was often visited by large groups passing thru, and was sure some of them would be interested in my story. I'm pretty sure if any of them actually read this story, they'll be surprised and most likely disappointed about it's content. As most of you have realized by now, this story is more about me than my experiences. Don't be discouraged though… there will be specific events described… one of the most dramatic ones, right now!
It was after five by the time I got outta BK's place, but I wasn't upset about the time I'd spent there. Stopping to smell the roses (or the beer) and making new friends was what this trip was supposed to be all about. Oh, besides visiting family and looking for work that is.
As I was putting Honey back on the road… a car with two beautiful blondes was pulling into the parking lot. The driver looked at me and said, "You're not leaving are you?" I responded with, "Doggone it, I sure wish I wasn't, but when you go inside, tell them you just met Ned, and they'll give you my phone number, so we can hook up when I come back thru town in a couple weeks."
Boy, I sure am a flirt. But I'm a harmless flirt. All bark and no bite. Honest. Really. You can trust me.
Hwy 95 on the California side of the Colorado River was a road I had been looking forward to. It's a really nice 2-lane highway, with lots of nice benders and rolling terrain. It had been fun to drive in my car, so I new Honey and I were gonna enjoy it.
I was feeling safe… connected, as the brotherhood calls it… so I jumped on Honey pretty good. She's only a 1300, but she still has pretty good giddy up, and I went from about 5mph to my cruising speed of around 80, in about the same length of time that it took you to read the last two sentences. When I came around the next corner, I saw one of those yellow diamond shaped road signs… the kind with a picture of a cow on it, to warn people that this was an open range area.
As I backed off the throttle a little, I smiled… I think I probably said out loud something to the effect of, "Oh yeah, other golfers on the course." That's a phrase I came up with years ago, and I use it whenever I remember that I am not the only person (or cow) in the world.
It was dusk and that's the time that a lot of the wildlife begins their nightly carousing. I smiled because I felt the connection growing stronger. That sign had come around the corner to remind me that this trip was not a race. It was only at its infancy, and if it was going to mature into a well-adjusted adult, I should not get in a hurry. I have always considered myself blessed, or lucky if you wish… in many ways… starting from the incredible parents I had. I am lucky… I know I am. That's why I'm still around to tell this story. There have been several occasions when I should have died. Like that time I actually tried to kill myself.
I can't believe I'm actually gonna put this in print:
I was very depressed after my divorce from my first wife, the woman who won the 'Best Looking Redhead in Seattle Contest' the summer I met her. So much so in fact, that I drove up into the mountains east of town, and parked. I had brought a garden hose and a roll of duct tape with me, and I used them in my attempt to create my 'canopy to end the sadness'. Well… it didn't work. I woke up a couple hours after going to sleep, with the car still faithfully idling.
My first thought was, 'Shoot, I can't do anything right'. My second thought was, 'Oh my gosh, I have the worst headache I've ever had.' My third thought was the one that's never left me. I realized that I had discovered my 'purpose in life'. It's just like the 'born agains' say… it's like waking up for the first time. And it really is, a very simple thing. I've heard that when someone finally 'figures it out', that it becomes almost silly, how simple the answer is. My purpose is actually two-fold:
1) To try and enjoy the life God gave me, to the best of my ability… to appreciate and be eternally grateful for the opportunity I have been blessed with; and 2) To help other people enjoy their lives too. Jeesh… is that basic OR WHAT!?!? Ever since that moment I woke up with that scareeaamming headache, I have felt a certain 'piece of peace'. I guess putting my attempted suicide down on paper isn't a bad thing after all. If what happened to me (my epiphany) helps even one person feel better about them selves, then it was completely worth the risk at admitting my 'weakness'. Wait a sec… by admitting my weakness I am proving my strength, aren't I? Yea, that's it. That's the ticket.
Ok, back to the story, I promised you something dramatic. It was exactly at the moment that I had backed off the throttle, and had glanced down at my speedo to see my speed at 70mph, that I looked back up and saw the deer. If I could have stopped time… frozen the moment into a picture… I could have reached out and literally touched the deer's face. It was a full-grown girl deer. She had the most expressively beautiful huge deep dark brown eyes I've ever seen. I say expressive because I could see what she was thinking, and it was the exact same thing that I was thinking… I remember saying it out loud, just milliseconds after the frozen moment in time… "Whew, that was a close one… that coulda really hurt."
How's that for proof of my luck, and of the biker feeling of connection? The description I just wrote of the experience is, without any exaggeration, truthful, honest, and accurate. God does obviously love me. Thank ya Jesus.
The next thought I recall having after the, that coulda hurt thought, was one of gratitude. The white light protective energy that my brother Bev had given me earlier that morning had come in quite handy. Thank ya Bev.
My next stop was a town called Vidal. It was no more than just an intersection of two roads with a gas station, but it held wisdom, beauty, and kindness inside. Her name was Bonnie, and one of the relatively unimportant things she taught me was that the town's name was pronounced, V-eye dell. I think I said something about how small the town was, and pronounced it like a hillbilly askin' about his dinner.
When I walked in the door, I heard her scolding a young child for playing with one the nick-nacks. Then, with almost the same tone, she told the child's mother to be sure to lock the bathroom door and to return the key. Her voice reminded me of a combination of a drill sergeant and a catholic-nun-schoolteacher. It was a very forceful voice… but there was something in it that caught my ear.
I looked around the 10 foot square room, glancing back to her a couple of times, as I reached out and pretended to touch one of the nick-nacks… then yanked my hand back, as if it had been slapped with the proverbial ruler. I'm not sure if she noticed my antics, but if she did, she didn't give me any indication.
I was infatuated with her voice. The confidence and the clarity… but hidden in there somewhere was a definite loving, caring soul. I didn't tell her she made me want to cuddle up next to her and nestle my head on her bosom. I knew the drill sergeant in her would not allow her to let a strange man show her that type of affection, especially since we hadn't even shared a word between us… yet !!
I handed her my credit card to hold, so I could go back and fill up Honey's tummy. While I was giving my best girl her meal, I was trying to think of how to approach this woman, and try to find out something about her. For some reason this woman was very important to me, and I didn't know why.
When I went back in to sign for my gas, I still hadn't come up with a definite angle of attack. After I took my card and was ready to leave, I blurted out… "Excuse me ma'am, but I was wondering… do you have any children?" She cocked her head… wrinkled her brow… and looked at me with one of those what the hell are you talkin' 'bout looks, that I seem to get more often than not, for some unknown reason. Before she said anything, I added, "I was noticing how you run this place. I see you have a lot of respect for it, and want others to show some respect too… and that made me wonder… if you have any children… are they respectful too… are they successful and are you proud of them?"
I had stumbled upon the correct formula for making a new friend. Her face relaxed… a large smile grew upon it. Her eyes began to sparkle, and when she responded, her voice had changed dramatically. She had dropped her guard, and her voice was soft and melodic. There was no one else in the store at that time, so we chatted for several minutes, mostly about our families, and how lucky we were to have been given such great human beings as children. As I had suspected, this woman was a genuine human being… someone worth something to society… a mother… a teacher… a business woman… and a gas station clerk.
Turns out she didn't make such an effort to take care of the store because she owned it… she did it because that was the kind of person she was. It reminded me so much of the way my parents raised me. Respect seems to be a dwindling attitude these days… I sure hope parents get back on track about that soon, or this world is gonna get a lot worse, before it gets better.
I had written down the phone number Bonnie gave me in my journal, so she could give me her son's email address, which she couldn't remember at the time. When I lost my journal, there were many thoughts about what I had lost, but her phone number was one of the things I was most disappointed about loosing.
Just down the road was the town of Blythe and the end of California Hwy 95 south. It was dark by then, and I was grateful that I was gonna be on a Freeway for the rest of this day's journey. Phoenix was only about two or three hours away, and I was glad the last leg of my journey was gonna be relatively easy and relaxing. I had been on the road now for about 15 hours and I was getting tired.
Ann & Izbell were the attendants at the gas station in Blythe. I wish I woulda had more time and energy, but I had used up almost everything I started the day with… mostly from the time on the road, but I was also feeling the effects of almost dying in Bambi's mom's lap a couple hours before.
My next stop was at a Rest Stop on I-10 Eastbound. Brian Veranish and his buddy were standing next to their car when I pulled up alongside them. Honey is really quiet, and I don't think they even noticed me next to them, until they heard my loud grunt, as I ever so slowly dismounted my faithful mare. I think they were looking for an excuse to not get back in their car, so they could stretch their legs a little bit more, but no matter the reason… I welcomed the attention as they walked around their car and asked me about Honey.
I haven't really told you too much about Honey. She really is a nice looking lady. About 50% of her body is gunmetal silver-grey, and the rest of her is brilliant chrome. Her style is called retro, because she looks more like a classic roadster, than a modern hot rod. When her model originally came out in 2001, she was the fastest production motorcycle on the road. Oh, that was her older sister, Honey One. That's a very sad story.
Honey One and I were together for less than two years and just over 40,000 miles, a few years ago. She was the 1800 that set the standard back in '01. She was as faithful and loving as Honey Two, and what did I do? I foolishly sent her to heaven on a late afternoon, on my way back to Aptos from Big Sur. Poor girl, she deserved better. I've always felt that she sacrificed her life to save mine. She was totaled and I came away with a concussion and a dislocated collarbone. The only scratch I had on me was a little abrasion on the top of my left wrist. My leathers had done their job. They were in shreds, but I was happy to replace them, rather than the top two or three layers of my skin.
I had been going about 50 mph, and came into a corner just a little too hot. I was riding too casually and confidently. Way too cocky. I got just a little bit wide, and found some gravel on the outside of the road, and was down before I really knew what happened. All I remember is that I knew I was going down. I have no recollection of any impact whatsoever. The next thing I remember is waking up in the back of the ambulance on the way to the hospital. I've always felt worse for what happened to Honey (One), than what happened to me. When Honey (Two) came into my life, I vowed to be more careful and respectful to her than I was with her older sister.
Back to the rest stop on I-10… Brian asked me how my day had gone, and I told him that besides almost dying a couple hours ago… the trip had gone wonderfully, and that I was tired but happy. I asked him about his day, and he told me he just played in, and won a golf tournament in Palm Springs. I asked him what his handicap was, and he smiled, and said, "A minus 2." I grinned a respectful grin, and said something stupid like, "I'm usually happy if I get one or two pars in a round."
He politely explained to me that this was a big tournament that was part of the Q-School, and that if he won the next tournament he would move up to the Pro Circuit. I told him I'd remember him, and expect his autograph if he made it to the big time. I remember feeling happy… refreshed by this man's sincerity and respectful attitude… not full of himself at all. I thought about Bonnie and her children, and felt a renewed hope for the younger generations… and the rest of us.
As I was coming back to my bike after visiting the men's room, and as I was about to put on my helmet, Chaya came walking over. She looked like she coulda been from my hometown. Long flowing skirt… long somewhat messy brown hair… barefoot… beads… the typical hippy girl look. She had a question mark in her eyes as she approached, and I was hoping it might involve some free sex.
Alas, all she wanted was an anti inflammatory for her headache. I gave her my bottle of Aleve, which she handed back to me after professing to be able to read the microscopic printing on the bottle, in the almost complete darkness. It had an ingredient in it that she couldn't take… young eyes… must be nice. We talked for a few minutes and I found out she was going to school in Prescott, which she told me the locals pronounce 'press-kit'. I told her I had always wanted to visit Preskit, and that I would like to call her, if my journey ended up taking me through the area. She quickly and easily gave me her number, which I immediately dialed to make sure it was valid.
She was smiling at me as I punched in the numbers, and then again as her phone rang. I left her a message… "Hello Chaya, this is Ned… now you have my number too." I'm sure she was probably thinking something like… 'What a goof this guy is… what am I doing giving this old man my phone number.' I told her if she didn’t' hear from me in the next few days, not to worry, 'cuz if I didn't go thru her town on my way towards Austin, I would try to, on the way back. She was very cute and nice, and young enough to be my daughter. Yee haw, she sure made an old tired grey beard a happy camper. I had absolutely no intension of perusing any kind of physical relationship with her, but in the spirit of the moment, I gave her a wink… blew her a kiss… and rode off.
I pulled into my x-wife's driveway about an hour later, a few minutes before 10pm. I revved Honey's voice slightly, hoping to announce my arrival with something other than a ring of the doorbell. Sure enough, they came out the front door, Eron my youngest daughter, leading the way with Ann not far behind.
When Ann and I divorced, it was different than with Mimi, but no less difficult. With Mimi, it had been hard on me because I had never been dumped before. With Ann it had been difficult because she hadn't responded to being dumped with sadness, like I had with Mimi. Ann reacted with anger. It was pretty ugly for a couple years, but now, after about five years of being apart, we get along better than we did when we were married. Thank goodness. They both welcomed me into their home with love and sincerity, and I slept very soundly.
793 miles and 18 hours… a very good start to a very good adventure.
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