DAY FOURTEEN - Thursday, November 6, 2008
The next thing I remember is actually hearing my alarm going off at 7am. After yesterday's mishap, I decided to sleep a little later than usual. Fortunately my inner clock cooperated… gratefully over-ridden by my body's need for additional rest.
As I was lacing up my boots, I promised myself that I would pay better attention to my 'this is not a race mantra', not only while I was riding, but when it came time to start thinking about when and where I was gonna bunk down again, for my last night on the road before getting home. Home…
I was excited to be so close to the end of my adventure, but deeply melancholy about the fact that I would be spending only another two nights or so, at the cute little beach bungalow that had been my home for the last 2½ years.
Brian, the motel handyman, kept me company as I packed Honey and finished my last cup of coffee. He was a morning person too. In fact, I remember thinking to myself… boy oh boy this guy sure can talk. Now I know how other people feel when they're subjected to my early morning jibber-jabber. I learned about his career as a pipe fitter, his time in Alaska on a fishing boat, the motorcycles he had at home, and way too much about his estranged wife and mother-in-law.
Nice guy, but I'm sure if I hadn't apologized for having to leave, and rode off that morning, I'd still be there, listening to his incessant yacky-yack-yack-yack. I made myself a mental note: Try to be a little quieter when around other people, first thing in the morning.
My first leg of the day took me thru some magnificent scenery. Globe is situated at the hollow between the Apache and Pinal Mountains, and the steep canyon I followed down the hill to the desert floor was a wonderful way to start my morning. The wind chill was cool but not cold, probably because I was keeping my speed down, so I could absorb the last real mountains I was going to see for the rest of my trip. The road thru the towns of Mojave and Tehachapi was the only real pass I had remaining, so I wanted to soak in as much of this as I could.
The rocky spires I passed reminded me of the ones I'd seen in Bryce Canyon in southern Utah a few years ago. Not quite that dramatic, but definitely more so than the little ones in The Pinnacles, south of my home in central California.
I think I mentioned the Pinnacles at the beginning of my story, but I don’t think I mentioned it is the resting site of my older brother Jon, and my parents, Jack & Celia. I was honored with the task of scattering the ashes of all three of them.
The bridge over Queen Creek was also notable. I wish I would've stopped and taken a picture of it… it is very similar to the Bixby Bridge, just south of Carmel and north of Big Sur… both of them are masterpieces of concrete engineering.
My first stop of the day was in Apache Junction, just on the eastern outskirts of the GPA. I was back in civilization for the first time since El Paso almost 1,000 miles ago. And wouldn'tchya know it… again, during morning rush hour. Actually, that's not really true. It was near the end of rush hour, about 9:30am. As I entered the madness and mayhem of Mesa, the traffic slowed to about 40mph. Not bad.
Two hours later, I was finally leaving the western outskirts of this 80-mile wide (and growing) metropolis. Progress. Yuck. I sure hope I don't ever have to live in a city. I don't know how so many people are able to deal with it. Some of them even profess to like it. Oh well… to each their own. You can give me the open country over a crowded city anytime.
As the traffic was lightening, and I was speeding up to my normal cruising speed, I noticed a single headlight in my mirror. I motorcycle was catching me…
There had been several cars and trucks that had passed me on this trip, but this was gonna be the first motorcycle. I was going my normal 80mph, and he was going at least 20mph faster. As he got closer, I could tell it wasn't a sport bike by the way the rider was sitting on it. He was upright, not that hunched over god-awful awkward position those adrenaline junky crazy kids assume. He had his feet out in front of him, stretched out straight. He reminded me of the way I look on Honey.
As the rider came up behind me, he moved over into the right hand lane. He was gonna get off at the next exit. I was curious as to what kind of a bike he was riding, so I let off on Honey's reigns and let the other iron horse come up beside me. My guess was correct… it was another V-Tex, just like Honey. We gave each other the thumbs up signal as we road side by side, for just a few seconds before he veered off the freeway at his exit. 'Vee Tex'… that's what we call our bikes. When Honda came up with the design for the VTX, they outdid themselves. It is the best bike on the road… says the man, like a proud father speaking about his daughter.
Down the road just a little bit, as I was getting ready to get back on Honey, after my next gas & stretch stop, a Harley pulled up next to me, and a young, good-looking couple got off and said hello. They were on their way to a rally in Lake Havasu, and they were riding a very nice Harley. I don't use those words in the same sentence very often. Nice and Harley. It's (usually) a good-natured joke that most Harley riders and Honda riders have about each other. Each likes to profess their bike to be superior. Once in a great while you'll run across an asshole, but my experience has led me to believe there are almost as many ass-holes who ride Hondas, as those who ride Harleys.
Anyway, Todd told me he was a Harley salesman in New Mexico, and was taking the bike to promote his Dealership. I told him that his lady friend (Kim) was as good an advertising tool as the bike. She blushed, and he nodded his acceptance of my compliment with a sly grin. Honda riders… Harley riders, we're all the same… little boys in men’s bodies.
I must've been feelin' pretty spunky 'cuz as we were saying our good-byes, there was a car next to us that was having problems starting, and as I pushed the starter on Honey, and she kicked over immediately and started her normal purring, I called out to Todd and Kim as they were walking away… "That car sounds just like a Harley!"
My estimation of Todd's nature was confirmed as he stopped, turned, bent over at the waist, put his hands on his knees, and let out a loud laugh. He was a slightly built man with soft features, and I knew I could've taken him, if he decided to take offense to my jest. KIDDING. Ya'all know by now that I'm a lover not a fighter. I was sure he would know I wasn't being serious. I've been perfecting my sarcasm for years, and rarely am mistaken as any kind of a threat. Knock on wood.
When I got to within about 50 miles of the Colorado River and my home state line, I turned north and got off the I-10 Interstate… time for more back roads. I followed Arizona Hwy 95 along the river thru Lake Havasu City. I hadn't remembered being on that highway before. For some reason each time I'd taken this route, I'd gone to and from Needles, on California Hwy 95. I was pleasantly and happily surprised about my decision. Even with the afternoon west Arizona winds picking up, this was a beautiful stretch of road. The vast difference in colors between the light-red-brown rocks, and the deep-dark-blue river was spectacular.
It was the first water of any sort I'd seen since Lake Travis, on the western outskirts of Austin, but much different. Desolate, rocky desert on the right side of the highway, in stark opposition to the lush, fertile, green river valley on my left.
I decided to pull over and take a picture of Lake Havasu, this beautiful body, placed there for me alone, and when I saw a sign for a scenic overlook, I pulled over and stopped. As if on cue, there was a single car with two young lovers standing next to it, holding each other in a tight embrace. I was not alone after all.
The feeling of beauty that this scene had placed on me, had stricken someone else as well. I introduced myself and told them that the presence of their tender love added a great deal to this already beautiful scene. When the young man told me his name, I was not really surprised. This is not really such a large world, is it? I had just been thinking about the last beautiful body of water I had seen, back in western Austin. His name was Travis and he and Kayla were very sweet. Young love is such a special thing. Love in general is special, don't get me wrong, it's just that I'm sure you'll agree, there is something about young love that makes the heart feel good in a different way, right?
I thought of my own love, and wondered if there was any chance that Donna and I would hold each other the way this young couple was. The love they were exuding was filling me with a renewed hope that I could find that same feeling again someday. I will never stop hoping that my heart will be filled, and that I will be able to fill someone's else’s heart. Ain't love grand?
My relaxed feeling of hope for finding true happiness would have to wait. When I got back on the road, the winds had picked up dramatically. They were blowing almost as hard as they had in West Texas. When one of the gusts almost knocked me off the road, I shook myself awake, and got my mind back on reality. It was like the gods where telling me to stop 'pipe-dreaming' about 'love' and pay attention to what I was doing.
Life is not always like a storybook. Fairy tale endings do not happen to everyone. Circumstances have dealt me a life that has been a tease. I thought I had found my soul mate when I married Mimi… then again with Ann. Now my hope that Donna was going to fill that 'void' in me was…
BOOM… the wind slapped me in the face and reminded me that most likely, my mistakes with her were going to be enough to keep me from experiencing the happiness I was dreaming of. I had had my chances. Why should I expect to be rewarded now… this late in my life? It would be easier for me emotionally, if I accepted the fact that I would be alone for the rest of my life.
I made my selves remember that there was still a lot of enjoyment a man like me could experience. No one else can bring me happiness… it must come from inside me… I will never be able to make someone else happy, until I am happy already… all these silly clichés were bouncing around in my head, when all of a sudden…
WHAAMMO… the wind hit me again… hard… but this time from the opposite direction as the last time! WAKE UP NED!… STOP DAYDREAMING! You can feel sorry for your selves later.
The next 15~20 miles were probably the most difficult riding conditions of the entire adventure. The winds were gusting to at least 50mph, and to make it even worse, the low-lying hilly terrain was causing the wind to swirl, and hit me from different directions. One moment I was being pushed to the left, and then the next second, to the right. To say it was unnerving was an understatement. The fragile and delicate thought of finding love and living happily ever after, had been shattered.
I was determined not to shatter (and scatter) Honey, Alyson, and my own body parts all over this highway. My vision quest would not be as much fun, if it was being done from a hospital bed, with tubes and machines keeping me alive. Time to focus on the real world…
I don't think I told you about the picture I took of the American flag being held taut in the wind at one of my stops in West Texas. Here in Bullhead City, the MMGS I stopped at, had one too… a big one. You can't tell by the picture I took, but it was at least 30 feet long and 20 feet tall.
The sounds it was making and the fact that it was still in one piece, indicated to me that it was constructed out of very heavy canvas. Not light, parachute type material, but some type of heavy man made fiber blends other than cotton… or maybe it was made of something even stronger… a material made by God… hemp.
The wind here was blowing consistently from one direction and it was holding this huge flag at full attention. I didn't need to go poddy or get gas, so I found a semi truck-trailer to park next to, to block the wind while I had a cigarette. I went thru my routine of stretches, twists, and bends, and noticed my shoulders were starting to burn again, but welcomed the distraction of the discomfort as a not so gentle reminder to keep my attention on the task at hand, and not let my mind wander back off into la la land. I still had quite a few miles to go that day.
I looked at the time on my phone and then at the odometer on Honey, and smiled. They both said the same thing. Three-thirty-three. I decided to let my mind wander… after all… I was parked safely and resting, and… this was not a race.
I like it when 'synchronicity' comes out of life's 'chaos.' I've always been a numbers guy. There's something secure and calming about them. I guess it's their consistency and inherently dependable nature. It's always given me a comforting feeling to know that some things can be explained in a rational, scientific manner.
Yet another example of how many different aspects I have to my selves. I had just forced one of my selves to stop it's enjoyable, albeit melancholy daydreaming of esoteric love, and now I was feeling happy to be grounded in a firmly three-dimensional thought process. I've never tried to count the different selves within me, but my guess is that the number is in double digits.
I'm not sure if I've mentioned this yet, but I've always felt happy to have multiple personalities. I normally do not enjoy being alone, and having someone to talk to when I am alone makes me feel better.
My next stop was in Needles, and Brenda's bar. I hoped she would remember me. BK's Lounge is one of those places where, when you walk in the door… everyone stops talking and turns and looks at you, like you're an alien or something. Good thing I didn't bring in Alyson, it might've given one of the old-timers a heart attack.
Brenda honored me by remembering me. I guess I am succeeding at one of my childhood goals. I'm not sure how old I was, probably 10 or 12 when I decided that I wanted to make everyone I met, remember me… clearly a sign of severe insecurity. Oh well, none-the-less, I have made it one of my life missions to do, say, or act, in such a way as to be remembered.
I'm not nearly as loud and forceful as I used to be, but I still tend to like to stand in the middle of the room, raise my arms over my head and yell, "Look at me, look at me". Not literally, as I said, I'm not nearly as dramatic as I used to. Thank goodness. Hey… it ain't easy bein' me. In fact, if I didn't have to be around my selves all the time, I wouldn't. It can be very tiring. Sometimes I get sick and tired of the sound of my own voice, I can only imagine how others feel.
I only stayed for one frosty mug of pushing my luck, but was able to make a few new friends. Tadd… a fellow rider who, even though a Harley guy… came out to check out Honey. See… not all Harley guys are assholes. Jeesh, will I never stop giving that breed a rash of shit?
Truck was a good guy, and posed with Brenda for me. Kinda like the bar in the TV show Cheers… BK's is a place where everyone knows your name. I'm already looking forward to stopping there again, and making new friends, in this messy smoke filled room.
I bid everyone a farewell and promised Brenda that I'd send her a copy of my story.
One quick stop at the GSGS (gift shop gas station) in Essex, and then it was Ludlow. Even though it is dry there, there's something about this little nothing-of-a-town that is attractive to me. Maybe the fact that this little coffee shop can survive at all, out here in the middle of nowhere, is enchanting to me.
I was still 50 miles from my morning's goal of Barstow for my sleep over stop, but after yesterday's pit fall (get it, pit fall)… I decided that the small motel here in Ludlow would suit me just fine, thank you very much. Alyson was happy too. The room they gave me had two beds, so she got her own for the first time since we met.
She didn't take the silly 'oh' expression off her face all night
After settling her and my selves in, I did some math. 436 miles for the day, put me over the four thousand mile mark for the trip… 4,166 to be exact. For a second I thought about extending my route to make it over 5,000, but decided it was not important. Numbers are fun, but after all, they are only numbers. I knew that I was gonna hafta face reality sooner or later. I would enjoy my last night on the road, and try to make tomorrow, the last day of my adventure, an enjoyable and safe one.
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