Final Preparations
Met some great people after writing Monday night’s post (friends of the aforementioned motel employee – Hi Richard). They were on the way to make some good use of a tattoo gun they happened to have, and offered me some commemorative ink, but sadly I didn’t have a good design in mind. Too bad.
Woke up bright and early in Tehachapi on Tuesday ready to dig my bike out of a few frozen inches of snow. Added another two signatures, including one in Hebrew. Battled my first mechanical problem when the cable that’s supposed to cut the engine when the bike is in gear and the kickstand is down froze overnight. This left me with a bike that thought the kickstand was down even when it wasn’t, and with a bike that would die as soon as I put it in gear. Luckily, my obsessive research into the bike before buying it had warned me of this, so I knew what the problem was, and it wasn’t too hard to disable the system altogether. A few slushy miles later, I reached clear, if still very cold, freeway.
As the day productively wore on, the eastern sky that was my destination deepened to a dark bruised visage, as if to question my chosen direction of travel. My rear-view mirrors reflected the setting sun hanging in a watercolor sky, an unnecessary contrast to the upcoming rain. Hours of looming doom never came to fruition, and I finally pulled into Tonopah, just West of Phoenix, still dry from the day’s travel. I stayed at a heavily armed motel (complete with NRA stickers in the office, and paintings of Native Americans with guns adorning the rooms) and ate dinner at an awesome sleazy diner with $3 pitchers of beer.
Interesting things seen on day 2: a sign advising we “Get the US out of the UN,” – home to the 20 Mule Team Borax plant and mine – the largest Borax mine in the world.
Then I was on the home stretch of the first leg of the trip, with just 366 miles to go before reaching Silver City, NM to meet up with my dad. I hit the road early and without breakfast (the NRA apparently is happier to spend their money on guns than breakfast) and had that old craving I get in the early morning on a road trip: Waffle House. A mostly southern phenomena, I hadn’t tasted the pools of brakkish grease dripping from those hash browns and eggs, the big round waffle that looks so impressive in the menu, and the sub-par coffee since I’d been in Georgia over a year ago for a work conference, and with multiple road trips to Florida (Spring Break, helping Brandy move, and visiting my Brother) through Ground Zero for the Waffle House movement, the thought hung heavy in my traveling mind. No sooner did my stomach protest to my foodless start did the telltale Waffle House sign hang, beckoning, in the cold morning sky. Empty calories, and the first former biking codger intent on explaining every motorcycle trip he’d taken greeted my waking consciousness. On the road again.
Mountains, shrub-covered foothills evocative of West Texas, and finally ungodly windy desert brought me into my dad’s friends Joe and Deb’s driveway in Silver City, NM, where we’ve spent the last few days in preparation. On my bike, we’ve added connections for a power outlet, a hookup for my electric jacket liner, missing bolts and nuts, new tires, and a healthy dose of loctite and torque to much of the hardware. I also must add to my Dad’s praise of our hosts in feeding, housing, and putting up with us for the last few days…
Interesting things seen on Day 3: the first bad traffic of the trip, more cops than any part of America should be allowed (though many waved as I passed), my dad and his bike waiting on the side of the road – aware to nearly the minute when I would arrive thanks to my GPS tracker.
The haiatus is nearly complete. Friends, family, and viewers, start your browsers: Tomorrow, we ride.