"Baseball, Hot Dogs and a Long-Ass Motorcycle Ride" page 2 (continued)
	There were a few logistical matters I had to tackle before embarking, the bottom line being that I keep everything as simple as possible. "Cheapest" became my motto for choosing food, lodging and baseball tickets. After several weeks of planning I estimated my trip would be roughly 13,500 miles and 2 ½ months long and planned on having nearly double the amount of money I thought I would need, just in case. The real wildcard in my expenses was something for which I had to plan but hoped I would never encounter - the breakdown. My schedule was so tight that my trip was essentially over if I failed to maintain an average of 200 miles per day. I could not afford to lose a day of travel to motorcycle malfunction, nor could I afford the expense, but I still had to plan as though it were inevitable. Was $500 enough? I prayed I never knew the answer. Finally the day came on March 31, 1997, just before evening. We had been free of snow for several weeks . . . until that day. The snow started falling lightly in the morning and only got heavier through the day. (It was later known as the April 1st Nor’easter on the east coast.) Being a snow virgin from Southern California, I foolishly ignored my girlfriend Anna’s warning to stay home. I had been planning my trip for two years and was not about to let a few snowflakes spoil my plans. I stubbornly set out for the slushy roads, my bike overloaded with a full dufflebag, a backpack strapped to a makeshift luggage rack, and an extra helmet for my friends along the way. I was wearing thermals, jeans, a leather jacket, a yellow $20 Kmart rainsuit, and a bright orange reflective vest. I looked more like a dayglo Pillsbury doughboy than a serious motorcyclist embarking on a great journey. After a hundred good-byes and a few spilled tears, I left Anna, hoping ironically that I wouldn’t see her for a month. If all went well, we would meet in California at that time. As I exited the driveway my rear tire hit a small patch of snow and slid to the right slightly. I should have paid attention to this warning. No sooner had I started my cruise eastward on Interstate 90 when I heard what sounded like my engine sputtering, so I entered the offramp to investigate. Bad decision. Immediately my rear tire hit a patch of slushy snow on the unplowed exit and BAM! I was on the ground before I knew it. I busted one of my turn signals, broke a mirror and bent the gear shift pedal inward. My motorcycle was in rough shape following the fall, but worse, my heart was broken and my ego crushed. I called Anna to pick me up, feeling like a dog with its tail between its legs. Considering how disastrous my first day had gone, I began to feel quite the fool. What the hell was I doing? Was that weed from two years ago still clouding my rationality? Never mind that I could not drive in snow; that was embarrassingly clear. Did I honestly think this trip was even possible? More importantly, why was I attempting such a trip? I needed a damn good answer now. I thought about my original motivation for the trip. With visions of marriage, house payments and a real job dancing in my head, I knew that someday I would have to grow up and get serious. My hope was that this voyage would be my rite of passage, helping me transition from youth to adult by getting that urge to roam wild out of my system. I wanted to find myself, so to speak, before "myself" got lost in the rat race. And like most people, I wanted to see as much of the country as possible before I grew too old to regret a missed opportunity. Yep, it was clear I had to make the trip in order to move on with my life.
	CONTINUE>            1  2  3  4  5
HOME  —  E-MAIL
Copyright © 1999-2012 Nosemobile Productions. All rights reserved. "Nosemobile" and the character with large nose are trademarks of Nosemobile Productions.