The morning i woke up at my hotel in vegas, it was 90 degrees at 8am. I knew I had a 400ish mile day ahead of me, including a stretch through the Mojave Desert so I wanted get on my way early.
So, at 11am, I woke up, told the hookers to go home, threw out of 8 empty bottles of Jim Beam, and started to pack up. I was sweating in my gear as I pushed the cart with all my bags on it down the sidewalk to my bike. As I got closer, I examaned the bike closely, as I was worried it might have been towed since I left it half inside of a Retar..err..handicapped spot. The bike was still upright, no enraged handicapped people had tipped it over in thier blind, helmet wearing rage. I was happy about that. However, there was fluid under the bike. Like, a lot of fluid. In fact, it looked like this:
Uh oh. I thought to myself, well, this is finally it. The bike made it all the way to Vegas, 2500 or so miles, only to crap out. Vegas was too much for it.
Well, it turned out to be fuel. I had overfilled the tank the night before, and and dumped out via the overflow tube, onto the engine, mixed the with extra coat of oil I like to keep on top of the engine for aestetics, then dumped onto the ground.
It was ok.
Whew!
I got on the bike, she fired right up, and i proceeded to attempt to get out out of town on my keen sense of direction alone, since I forgot to hook up the gps and I was too lazy/hot to look at a map.
5 minutes later
10 minutes later
20 minutes later
Ok, I'm lost.
Let me ask someone for direction to "the" 15, as you west coasters like to say. I pull into a Taco bell and see a girl cleaning the parking lot. Without removing my helmet I say,
"Hi! Can you tell me how to get to the 15?"
"Yes"
"Great!"
she keeps sweeping the parking lot.
"So....the 15? Can you tell me how to get there?"
"Yes"
she keeps sleeping the parking lot.
"You dont speak english do you?"
"Yes"
Glad I didnt bother taking the helmet off. I went down the street and finally found an english speaker, and got my way to the 15. Not before 20-30 minutes in city traffic, going the completely wrong direction though:)
The delay turned out to be a good thing because, once I got ont he road, i regretted it. The desert for the most part, between Vegas and LA, is ugly. Flat, dirty, and of course, hot. Going 90 down the freeway, getting passed by semi's going 100, the wind is so hot it feels like someone is blowing a hair dryer on me. Reguardless, the entire 300 some miles to LA, I only get off the bike once to eat at a Jack IN the Box, and to get gas. Actually, i dont even get off the bike to get gas.
Its so hot, I only manage to take one pic, because its hotter when you stop. I didnt even stop to take this pic, I took it with one hand while I was riding
ok, so I guess the desert isnt too ugly right there, but overall it was.
and, i guess I took two pictures:
Eventually I crossed over the San Bernadino mountains and into the valley, where it cooled off some. I headed south past LA from there, and down to Corolla( I think?) where I met Deseige, and he took me on a great road, the Ortega Highway. Here's a few pics he snapped of me there:
before we could even leave the parking lot we met in I had to adjust my chain:
i think ill need a new one before i take the bike back out on a long trip.
Anyway, thanks again Deseige for showing me your beautiful state for a bit, and for taking some pics! It was nice putting a face to the name.
Here's some of my pics of our bikes, overlooking a town I of course forget, from the Ortega Highway.
After a great ride, which included riding through the mountains, and well as some Califoria Highway fun, Deseige and I split ways, and I headed to San Diego, which was now only 30 something miles away. I was tired, it had been a long day, so I was looking forward to finally getting to my friend Melissa's. When I finally got there, after much filtering on the 5, she tried to hug me hello, but I told her that probably wasnt the best idea right now...
I took my helmet off, stood around the bike in a bit of a daze, and thought to myself,
"I'm here. I can't believe it. I can't believe this 20 year old POS made it. I can't believve this 29 year old POS made it
. I can't believe I didnt get one speeding ticket."
I felt like I should celebrate somehow, but instead i just went inside and got a shower, and began to mentally unwind.
In fact, most of this trip was an acct in mentally unwinding for me. My life has been a bit of a hectic mess these past few months, and in many ways this trip was a means of mentally regrouping. I had a lot of things to sort out in my head, and a lot of time to think of nothing except how pretty my surroundings were.
Along the way, a few other motorcyclists I'd see alone the way commented on how I was riding alone, saying they couldnt do it. I never felt alone, or bored, or anything like that. I'd do it again tomorrow, and in fact, plan to in a month or two. Not that I wouldnt love to ride in a group, but there was something about being out there, alone with just me and my old bike, on a quest to get across this huge country.
I dont think I have any huge revelations or anything, and I dont know if this trip changed me in any way, except to prove to me, at least on some level, what im capable of. And to know that this means of travel will continue to be a way of life for me for a long time.
Like I said before, this is by no means the end of this story, or this blog, but just a small peice, somewhere in the middle.
To all who have read this, and to everyone who has helped me along the way, once again, thank you for everything. If any of you (or anyone else for that matter), ever find yourself in Philadelphia, you always have a free place to stay. The site, this country, you people, all make me proud to be a part of this....thing.
Ride Safe, and talk to you soon
