By
Sam
Lepore
Subject: Wander Ynot?2K - Chino, California
Date: Sat, 25 Mar 2000 21:03:10 -0800
I do not do drugs. I do not smoke. Hell, I don't
even take aspirin for a headache. But I think I know how a junkie feels
when that first rush of euphoria from a hit cascades into and overwhelms
the senses: I am wandering again. Ahhhhhhhh. My motocyclene deficit has
been kept in check by the day rides one could enjoy through the mild California
winter, but like an Alaskan husky I yearn for the pull of the sled and
the urge of the next turn in the trail before me.
Where to this time? Well, if I knew for sure it
wouldn't be a Wander, would it. But there are some points on the map ...
the McComb Mud Bug Boil, the Branson Blast, the Luling BBQ Lunch and Kingsville
Seafood Dinner (only LDRiders would pick two spots to eat in the same day
that are 300 miles apart) - and some personal visits along the way. It
looks like 40 days and 40 nights before I see SF again. Considering the
way it has been raining in California this winter, that seems like an appropriate
number. Are you ready for a long ride?
It is easier to pack for a long ride than a short
one. A few changes of clothes and an open mind - that's all you need. I
was asked again why I do this ... "why not?" was the answer. Time is going
to pass whether I stare at the computer at home or at this one in some
distant motel. I can 'afford' the time, so how better to spend it. Again,
it is the ride, not the destination that calls (just ask the huskies!).
So from the question of why? comes the title of this Y2K trip.
After a couple of errands, I turned my mind and
the bike toward the open road while sitting in the middle of Haight-Ashbury.
What a colorful start. Pink volkswagens still abound here. And it seems
all the purple paint sent to die from the rest of America has found its
resting place on the victorian homes here. You can still see some hippies,
some still in dreadlocks and tatters sitting on a stoop smoking a doobie
(60's terminology is still in vogue ... or they never caught up, dunno
which). But in premonition of what I am sure to see as I visit places I've
been to years before, the Haight is becoming upscale retrograde chic. There
is now a Gap store at the corner of the two streets which define the neighborhood,
Haight and Ashbury.
'Traveling' is somehow different than traversing.
It makes you - or at least lets you - see things you might otherwise ignore.
I have been through Oakland more times than my life has really needed for
it to be complete ... but because I am now 'traveling', this time I saw
something I've missed for who knows how long. The big building close to
I-580 that used to be The Sawmill now has a sign California Hotel. Or is
it Hotel California? Like the song (you can check out anytime you want
but you can never leave), I think California does have an aura to it. At
least this New England boy has been drawn back again and again. For some
it is the weather. Yeah, I like that. For some it is the scenery. Yeah,
that too. For a motorcyclist it is both those AND the seemingly endless
roads. Texans makes a big deal about the 876 miles across I-10. Did you
know it is more than a thousand miles (1028) by freeway from the northwest
corner of California to the southeast corner?
Alas, the endless road of the day is I-5. If all
there was to riding a motorcycle was I-5 between SF and LA, I would gladly
be in a car. The first and last 75 miles are decent. It is the 300 miles
of vegetable bowl in between that are mind numbing. I once heard that the
short version of teaching someone to ride a motorcycle is "sit here, twist
that". Well, on a venue like I-5 with a throttle lock engaged, you only
have to do half the work. Sit. I-5 indeed is one of the few places I do
use a throttle lock. (Little games we play to keep amused:) The furthest
I've gone without adjusting the throttle at all for traffic is 11 miles.
Obviously through (and 'observation' was where I
started this thread), mine is not the only mind being numbed. You must
constantly watch the drivers around you, for they are seeking distractions.
Like the young woman rooting in the glove box for something and not seeing
that huge tire snake that scared the bejesus out of her when it thumped
through both wheel wells. Not knowing which way she might swerve or the
snake might jump, I slowed severely to leave a cushion. The woman took
all three lanes of the two lane freeway to recover.
Another distracted driver made me laugh. Tan Ford
Taurus, middle aged guy, who has had his share of burritos, using both
hands to eat from a yogurt cup. He was scraping and digging and totally
ignoring the road. I watched him for more than a mile and he never once
looked up. Finally I pulled alongside to pass and you would think I appeared
like a UFO. His startled look - with spoon midway to mouth - betrayed the
surprise of being 'caught' when you thought you were alone.
I saw two things today I thought I'd never see, neither
of which are things you want to see. One was the CHP using radar on I-5.
Ever since I came to California there has been this mystique about the
CHP being prohibited by law from using radar on freeways. Well, I finally
looked up the law a couple of years ago. They are prohibited from spending
any money to purchase radar devices. Where citizen groups have purchased
units for police to reduce speeding on local portions of state highways,
the CHP have used radar for years. But never on freeways. What citizen
would want that? None. None except the citizen insurance company. The CHP
have been funded by some who-us-interested-in-our-bottom-line? companies
in the interest of public safety (suuuure), and now there is some mighty
surprised public who I doubt would say they feel more safety. One of the
last sanctuaries of speed is gone. The CHP were ticketing for 80+ in a
70. Traffic on I-5 seems downright sluggish these days.
The other 'thought I'd never' was more than $10
to fill the stock tank of a motorcycle. Regular gas at a 'discount' station
along the freeway (next gas 37 miles) was $2.15. Wow. No wonder the SUV
driver at the next pump was scowling ... I didn't even look at the price
of premium.
The sun went down just as I was ramping up to climb
the Grapevine. (My GPS told me sundown was at 6:13 pm and damn if it wasn't
like a switch was flicked at 6:11!) If you've never seen it lit in the
late day sun, the section of I-5 that swoops back and forth up to Tejon
Summit looks like a wound grapevine on a distant trellis. In the two minutes
before sunset, the 'vines' went from green through orange to purple as
the shadow of the Sierra Madre raced the traffic up the hill. It was like
watching the fast forward maturation of an entire season. Two minutes like
that can make the previous five hours of droning worth every second of
being there. That is why I like to travel.
Thinking more about the dynamics of travel and how
it seems our world never stops moving, I drifted easily up through the
chain of struggling trucks. Using the power to weight benefit of the motorcycle,
it was like dancing a tango through a room full of people doing a slow
waltz. At last I was "riding" and not just driving a two wheeler. I crested
the last dark ridge and the entire panoply of LA spread before me. (ok
... so it was only Santa Clarita, but it was pretty.) There the spirit
of the trip came and settled on me. There my sense of adventures yet to
come overcame that nagging feeling that "it's not too late to turn around"
which surreptitiously packs itself into your suitcase at the last moment.
There I said out loud to myself - I like this bike.
So it is what, 80 miles across the LA basin? And now it is close to 8 pm. And yes, I am using the 24 hour car pool lanes because otherwise traffic is moving like hay through a cow. Clumps here and there, slowly changing form, producing frequent bellowing and much exhaust. Thank goodness for the pool lanes. For a better image I'll say they are the spaghetti straps on the evening gown of transportation. If you can wear them they are sleek and racy. (Lose one though, and the results might be similar. :)
416 miles
_________________________
Sam Lepore, San Francisco