A Flat Tire to An Interview to The Golden Gate to Rain

California
I don’t recall what hour I finally got up Sunday morning. Just the day before I had ridden back to LA with Brian from the desert and that was the day after riding out there in the first place which was the day after I arrived in California after a 10 hour ride. Does that make sense? One thing about riding a motorcycle is that you don’t feel tired (usually) while riding. This is great for long trips as you aren’t fighting to stay awake. However, the moment that boot slips off the foot peg and the rumble of the engine is silenced and that rump cautiously rises from the molded seat the weariness retraces the hundreds of miles just traveled and abruptly registers.

So I justify sleeping late. My sleeping quarters at Brian’s apartment weren’t super comfortable, but his carpeted floor is vastly superior to the ground of Darfur on which I have passed many somber evenings. So I actually didn’t notice any discomfort. My stomach grumbled, protesting the lack of attention I had doled out the previous evening. I thus resolved to remedy the situation by taking the 2 block trip to In-N-Out burger. I need say no more.

In actuality, the two weeks I spent at Brian’s apartment kind of blend. There are spots of recognition and detail; a weekend with my Grandparents in San Diego, an evening with my Uncle Kirby and Aunt Karol and cousin Chelsea, a drive through my old neighborhood and a walk through my childhood haunts, and so on.

I did make sure to make it to Royal Pastries. The best doughnuts bar none. Pure piece of heaven.

I was able to show my Darfur pictures to several people and relate my experiences in a more personal manner. I am always glad to do such a thing as people need to remember what is going on. Just before Brian and I headed up the coast I gave a video interview for a documentary being created about Darfur for the Sundance Film Festival. The producers know someone in Samaritan’s Purse who put them in touch with me and so I went and was interviewed for an hour.

I mentioned this to Andy Shaver, who I am now with in Vancouver, BC, and I remarked at how as I would describe the situation (and all aspects of it) the look on the interviewer’s face was one of incredulous shock. Even though I know that what Darfur was and is is wrong and terrible I am no longer shocked by it. My description of it is rather matter-of-fact and it intrigued me to see someone being faced with it for the first time. Made me realize again that what I take in-stride is actually quite distressing for the average American.

They are trying to get to Darfur to film and according to them should be finished with the film by September. If it passes muster with the Film Festival then it will be revealed in February of 2007.

One continuing thing of interest is that my brother’s motorcycle has provided us with many adventures:

We were returning from skydiving and were within five miles of his house when his rear tire struck a metal object and subsequently became flat. We were riding in the far left-hand lane and had 5 lanes to our right. Traffic was thicker than fleas and crawling at 10 mph. There was a shoulder on the left, however, and so we pulled into the five feet of protection it offered. Up until that point I had been riding in the lead but as we neared Brian’s abode I became less familiar with the directions and motioned for Brian to surge past me. Moments later I noticed his problem.

He didn’t catch it at first and it took me riding up right next to him and telling him to pull off. Brian used my cell phone and called Triple A. To his chagrin he discovered that the plan he was on didn’t cover his motorcycle. Still they put in the call for a tow truck. We needed a flatbed so that the motorcycle could be safely towed. What showed up 45 minutes later was a regular tow-truck whose driver claimed that he was just ‘scouting’ it out, the flat bed was coming. Fair enough.

By this time multiple thousands of cars had crawled past us and only three people had stopped or slowed to ask if we were alright. Los Angeles county is world-renowned for its hospitality. Twenty minutes after he arrived the regular tow truck driver came upon the brilliant idea of trying to repair the tire. He began to work. Then came the bees.

I suppose God ran out of locusts and had to send bees. At first we thought that it was flakes of ash from a nearby fire. But when one of them hovered in front of Brian’s face we realized their identity. For the next 10 minutes we were enveloped in a swarming cloud of bees. The driver shrieked for fear of his allergies and ran into his truck. Brian and I put our full face helmets on and turned up the collars of our jackets the whole time staring at each other in disbelief. Then they were gone.

Two or three hours after the initial pull-over we were finally sorted out. Brian was missing an arm having paid for the tow and his bike was in the shop for repairs of damage done to the rim.

Then we were riding back from San Diego where we had spent the weekend with our Grandparents and I noticed that the front exhaust pipe on Brian’s bike was flapping in the wind. He noticed a sharp increase in volume and definite loss of power. I again pulled up next to him and pointed at the problem. Stopping at a hardware store we purchased a pipe clamp and put the pipe back in place. Problem temporarily solved.

Moving along. “Brian, how about I continue to take the rear in case your engine falls off?” A short while later I am almost compelled to duck to miss the plastic cover for his battery area. The clasp had cracked at some point in the bike’s history and finally reached the give-up point. Nothing operationally serious but only the aesthetic quality is damaged. A quick stop at the Honda dealership and the discovery that a new one would be over a hundred dollars. For a piece of plastic 12 inches long and 10 inches tall. Wow. As my grandfather says of personal aircraft, if you were to build an airplane from scratch with spare parts it would be vastly more expensive than just going out and buying one. The irony.

The pipe got welded. I changed the oil in both of our bikes and we were finally ready to go.

Due to some work issues and my video interview we decided to postpone the trip for one day. Sunday, May 14th we bade farewell to Los Angeles and began our ‘climb’ north along the coast.

I was born in Orange County in Southern California...I even passed by the hospital where I was born on this trip, but never in my 16 years of living there did I ever venture up past Monterey. I had absolutely no idea about the wealth of beauty that is contained along the coast. Our first day had us both reeling in amazement with every bend in the road. As we’d stop for gas we share our shocked impressions.

Prior to setting off we had determined a system of hand signals which had the total effect of getting the both of us to be aware of one or the other’s intentions of pulling over. We didn’t have two way radios (which we regret) and so the only way to discuss things was to pull over. If our hands got cold one would wave his hand over his head, get noticed by the other and then receive a corresponding signal. We’d pull over.

Without discussion and en-route we agreed that pumping your hand up and down vigorously meant some kind of thrilled declaration of amazement and excitement. Our trip was punctuated hundreds of times in such a manner as we’d round a bend and be confronted with mountains dropping off immediately into the ocean which beat itself relentlessly on the rocky cliffs. We’d swoop around a sharp bend and find a steep canyon had wound its way around the peaks and found the ocean. We’d slow and stare back up the canyon’s mysterious pathway realizing that more beauty lay beyond those bends too. Too bad we could ride over there.

Our first night was in a place called Big Sur. We found a campground that was inundated with huge trees that hugged each campsite and towered above like vigilant sentries. We lay awake discussing and not believing at the incredible things we had encountered. Post-trip now we both agree that that first day was one of the top three experiences of the whole adventure.

I won’t go into too much detail about each day of the trip. We had good campsites and bad ones. Mostly good days, although there were cold moments and being socked in with fog and mist. Those things made it all the more adventurous though. Not being able to see the road more than 50 feet in front of you is exciting. Challenging.

The intensely meandering coastline highway provided great enjoyment for us motorcyclists, but after the third and fourth and fifth day of the stuff it proved to be hard work. Enjoyable still, but we began to long for straight roads where we could consume more blacktop and arrive in our campsites with more daylight to spare.

I can say now that I have been to San Francisco and have personally driven across the famed Golden Gate Bridge. It was a beautiful time of day with a late afternoon sun casting warmth and shadow and making for more character on the bridge. Ships cruised in the bay beneath us and the city sprawled out to our right. We didn’t take the tour but we could see Alcatraz sitting menacingly also to our right.

Then it turned chilly and the next two hours of riding were interesting. Climbing into my small tent and sleeping bag were welcomed luxuries at the end of the day and each morning I was thankful for the waterproof qualities of my tent as we were rained on everyday. We’d just lie there for a few hours until it stopped and then quickly rise and pack up and leave.