[My brother will be guest editor for a couple posts because he had a story to tell. This is that story.]
You don’t have to be a commie to ride a motorcycle, but diaries are for teenage girls.
Tough, but girls will laugh at you.
A couple months ago I got a motorcycle. I had been riding a Honda Ruckus for a few months. It was pretty cool, but very underpowered and tiny for my purposes. I originally just realized that I couldn’t handle the bus anymore. I’m not really sure why, but it has something to do with everything about it. So, I quickly advanced from the tiny Ruckus to a less tiny Honda Nighthawk 250. Still smallish, but more powerful. It also has a clutch, which makes it more fun.
I decided that I wanted to ride my new vehicle from San Francisco to Santa Barbara and back. I did the
Tougher, but you'll be gripping the handlebars so hard and you'll be so cold your arm will finally snap in half like in The Fly.
level of planning I do, which means I knew I had a couple days off work, so I was ready to go. I picked up a tank bag to take all the necessary supplies (underwear, a couple shirts, a toothbrush, water, and a book which I didn’t read a word of). I planned on leaving at around 6am because I knew it would take all day.
Six am turned out to be as much bullshit as I figured it might be. I got out of the house around 9:30. I checked the air pressure in the tires, checked the oil, filled the tank, and headed out. I had printed the five pages of directions the night before. The bag has a clear deal on top so you can have a map right there.
The first hour or so was easy enough. I stopped at some shopping center place because I had to piss really bad. I went in to a Whole Foods, stopped and got a coffee on the way to the bathroom.
“for here or to go?”
“either way, doesn’t matter.”
“which one?”
“I don’t care.”
This continued for a while, finally I just said to go. She explained there’s tax for here and no tax to go. Next time just fucking give me my coffee.
For to go or for here?
I drank my coffee and ate an energy bar of some sort then got going. Kind of. I went toward what I thought was the way out, but I was kind of steered toward the back of the building. I made my way around, ended up on the other side of the parking lot, and got lost somehow a few more times. In a parking lot.
I got back on the road, following the sweet directions. Until one of them told me to turn right, then go a few miles and turn right on some street. I went about 7 miles, where the street I was on dead ended at a cross street. I must have missed the other street. So I went the entire way back along the road. The road I was supposed to turn on didn’t exist. Sweet.
This picture may or may not include my near resting place.
I figured it out, probably because I have a stellar direction sense. Ask anybody who knows me. I cruised along for a while and made it to the super curvy part around Big Sur. Taking the curves, feeling all manly. Then I took one of the curves a little fast. Not too fast to make, but too fast for my skill level. I pulled the full amateur move and panicked. I looked at the edge, which is exactly wrong. You go toward what you look at. I started to stick my leg out, realizing it was very stupid as I was doing it. I managed to make the turn, but not without that feeling of dread you get when you think you may have just almost died.
I wanted to pull off and catch my breath and calm down, but it was one of the stretches without pullouts for like eight miles. So I anxiously curved through until I found a pullout. Two dudes on motorcycles pulled off. I asked where they were heading. San Francisco. We were totally the same. I asked where from. Texas. Oh. Fine.
When they left I peed behind a rock and started to get ready to go. Right then a family pulls up and they all walk over behind the rock with their cameras and flip flops. Sweet, I’m the scummy dude that pees at pullouts. I’ll live.
I love you.
Most of the rest of the way down was pretty mellow. When I got to Santa Barbara I went to the Mission and laid on the lawn for ten minutes before I even told anybody I was there. It had been over ten hours. The way down was like drinking water compared to the way back. You have to wait for that. I have to prepare. It is an exorcism.
Vitriol