Gone is Goatstown, Dublin City, Ireland, nursing, Roebuck, friends, family and neighbours, but not gone is biking, considered by many a way of life, something I'm not leaving behind. The whole of America lies before me awaiting my discovery. I wish you could see me, free, independent, ultimate freedom. Every other evening I would ride into a city not knowing where I would be laying my head for the night. Like the days of Joseph and Mary, you just have to show up and find your bed.
This blog is for my uncle Ralph who insisted I write a book on my adventures across the states, this is in lieu of same. Writing this retrospectively will possibly bring forward only the important memories and focal points of this trip. This memoir may omit some significant encounters and all the minor revelations that help shaped this small part of my life. I've had too many important conversations with too many people to even begin mentioning. Most were conversations about a little bit of everything and others were more attuned conversations on important topics of life, love, family, morals, the typical nomadic-traveler-spiritual-agnostic conversations, fuck-the-system conversations, conversations about travel and conversations about motorbikes. Every person you meet has a minor effect on the next step or few steps of your life, every conversation might change your route or what you do, where you will go, what road you take, what you will see and thus, who you will meet, maybe even what you become. This for me is a small part of what life is about. From one perspective, life is an 80 or 90 year long algorithm with an almost infinite amount of paths, possibilities and outcomes; your path which bounces of circumstance creating new trajectory. Visually, like the roots of a big tree. This will remain true throughout my vacation.I don't know what compelled me to do this trip, there was no purpose, reason or need to do it. I originally thought I would do it on a bicycle. In my Dublin apartment, I shot up in bed one night at the thought, 4,000 miles+, 40 miles per day, 100 days give or take..... that lasted 30 minutes or so before I remembered I had a motorcycle license and crossing America on a motorcycle would be a little more apt, a little bit cooler and could actually save me money by doing the distance quicker (delusional). I got out of bed first thing the next morning and started looking at a map (of America). The route pretty much developed itself as certainly I knew of some of the places I definitely wanted to go. I would roughly travel from L.A to New Orleans, through Tennessee, Kentucky, New York, and on to Boston. I asked some friends what they thought my purpose or reason should be to do this journey. If I had a focus or goal I knew I would be able to achieve something or develop something along the way. This all fell into place in due course. When it was too late and when I was about to leave Ireland, I thought I could have done it as a charity run, and I will forever regret having not thought of this sooner.
I have been riding bikes for about 8 years or so but the greatest distance I ever really covered in one day before this trip was to Mullingar and back, a mere 120 mile trip. I did not think I had the skills, experience or balls to do the trip but I had a 'how hard can it be' approach which was neither productive nor sensible. I was taking chances doing something a little bit ambitious and not guaranteed, I could feel it, the doubt, and maybe a little fear; a child learning to swim doing the doggy-paddle.
As I write, I am looking at an image on my desktop of three old 2-stroke motorbikes parked side by side on a beach in Zanzibar; superimposed on the image, it says, 'The most dangerous risk of all - the risk of spending your life NOT doing what you want, on the bet you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later'. This motto has fueled me over the last few months. I knew at SOME stage of my life I would dream of driving/riding across America. I was preemptively ticking a box on my bucket list.
'The most dangerous risk of all - the risk of spending your life NOT doing what you want, on the bet you can buy yourself the freedom to do it later' - Randy Komisar
I started sketching out my own maps of America and further sussed out some possible routes. Once I had a solid route, I googled every town I would pass through and found some curious sculptures, interesting trees, graveyards, activities or the naked bookstore owner of Quartzsite, for example. I couldn't spend a day on the road without some pit-stops some of which were truly amazing. The route was solidified and as it stood, I planned to ride from California, through Arizona, New Mexico and Texas as far as New Orleans, Louisiana (a fairly direct line along Interstate 10); from here I would head north through Tennessee to Kentucky, this would be my mid-way point where I planned to spend 4 or 5 days with my good friends Killian and Kate. At this stage the bike would need rest, oil and filter changes. I at least would need some rest. From Kentucky I would try and see the major cities on the East coast such as DC, Baltimore, Philadelphia and New York. I really wanted to see a little bit of 'the Wild West', I wanted to see music (New Orleans, Memphis and Nashville), I wanted to ride the typical American interstate through the desert (like in the Irish lotto advert). I wanted to do all the typical touristy bullshit. Before leaving home, I bought two Irish flags.....
I don't know what else I needed asides my licence, clothes and tools. I waited for two weeks before my flight to look for suitable motorbikes as they come and go so frequently online there is no point in looking too prematurely. On first inspection, bikes seemed plentiful and affordable in the L.A. area. Motorcycle rental was extortionate over there and for 6 weeks rental, I would be looking at paying up $5,500 for rental and insurance. I knew I'd be better off buying a motorcycle with the aim of selling it at the end of my trip, this could result in breaking even on the bike and only suffering the cost of petrol. A total of 5,500miles, 50mpg, $3.50/gallon =$385 spent on petrol (gas) = €287 to cross America (in theory?).
I didn't realize how big LA (nor America) was and I had pinpointed locations around the suburbs where private sellers had ideal bikes (saddle bags, helmet, mid-size cruiser (were my main criteria)). I later found out these locations were all hours in opposite directions and it wouldn't be not feasible for my uncle / aunt to drive me around the whole of suburban Los Angeles looking for the right bike. I had to be a little more selective in my search. I found bikes more in the vicinity and the next day I test drive a Honda Shadow Aero in south central Los Angeles (where my aunt was not eager to visit (we didn't get shot)). Ann sacrificed her sense of security to give me an opportunity to test ride a bike owned by a guy I don't know, in a city I haven't been in since I was 12. The bike was nice but was missing the bells and whistles. Ralph thought I should buy it based on the amount of chrome the owner had put on it. It was a beauty but just wasn't right for me. The next day I view a different bike, same model, in 'The Valley' (Simi Valley) of north west LA. My aunt and I told the seller that we would view a different bike nearby and come back in an hour. In reality, Ann and I went and got McDonalds for lunch where I informed her I had already decided to buy the bike. It was my third day in LA and I had to think about getting on the road. I rode that bike back to following my aunt in her car. Progressive Insurance (saints) provided me with insurance for a full year for $200 so I was more than happy to pay that. My agent kindly informed me I would be renewed 85-90% of the premium if I canceled the policy within two months, this was music to my ears, practically free insurance. If didn't crash and there were no claims, they got their percentage, I get an almost full refund and everybody is happy.I had bought myself a fantastic 2003 Honda Shadow VT750 ACE with saddle bags, brackets, sissy bar, luggage rack, helmet and a new lightweight jacket which was a lifesaver in the dessert. The bike had everything I needed to get going. It was a burned orange in colour and it was just beautiful. For $3,300, a steal. My uncle Ralph asked his car mechanic (G&D Autos) to have a look over my bike, replace oil and filters, review the chain and sprockets etc. Full service for $45. It was meant to be $65 but the mechanic wasn't bothered waiting the extra minute it took me to find the last $20 bill. Maybe he was just being nice. As it turned out this car mechanic owned the exact same bike at home. I brought her back to my aunt and uncles and fitted the sissy bar and saddle bags. I got a 30 day contract with T-mobile which got me data (internet) so I could use maps, unlimited free texts and free phone calls anywhere in America. This would come in very handy on many occasions.
My aunt Ann and uncle Ralph were saints in making sure I had all the physical, psychological, legal and general support I needed; the random 'need-to-know', what to watch out for, 'be careful of this', 'make sure you do that', 'we hope you have...'. All of my paperwork was in order, I had the backup I needed (with my new membership to American Motorcycle Association, which provided roadside assistance and towing service and a really cool membership card). Ann and Ralph were so full of support but also a little anxiety for me. They had huge interest in my travels, I owe them greatly and eternally. They rang me constantly throughout my trip telling me how proud they were. It's one of those favours that is hard to repay. Ralph told me not to worry about the transfer of title and the DMV. He insisted the process was all to lengthy and complicated and insisted on doing it for me. I asked if I could join him but he said not to worry about it. I would leave L.A. without my registration and Ralph would so kindly deal with the notorious DMV and forward me on all the new paper-work to my mid-way point in Kentucky.
My aunt Dorothy (my father and Ann's sister) in Ireland calls the house. I probably haven't seen 'Dothering' as we lovingly call her in about two years. She asks to speak to me and she questions why it takes a long distance phone call to America to get in touch with me when in Dublin I only live a 20 minute drive away. Ann expressed both anger and upset at the divide in our family which thankfully is not fueled by feud or anguish but something that just happened over time........I promise Dorothy I will visit when I get home.....I am yet to follow up on that.
Two nights before leaving LA, I spent one night out in Manhattan Beach with my cousin Phil. I don't know Phil as well as I'd like to as we've only met a handful of times over the years. We played a game of pub-crawl golf. It was pretty heavy going but great craic. We started at a friends house where there must have been about 60 revelers. His friends couldn't understand our relationship as he introduced me as his cousin. Even in multicultural America, people questioned the different skin colour between two first cousins, I don't think we bothered to explain how his father was black and his mom; my aunt, was white. Some people jokingly spluttered, 'PhYeaah, I can see the resemblance'. We started shooting beer at the house and then hit the golf-course. We went to 9 different bars (holes) and each bar was allocated four different drinks each of which was of different 'severity'. In the first bar, an Irish car bomb would score you an eagle (-2 points), a shot of your choice would score you and birdie (-1 point), a regular beer was par (0 points) and a water was a bogie (+1 point). The drinks varied from bar to bar according to the score card but my cousin and I managed to Eagle every hole, unfortunately we had a rookie on our team drinking Bud Light all night so it brought our score up (a high score in golf ain't good). It was an interesting night getting to briefly know my cousin and his circle of friends, the culture in L.A., summer time. Later the next day, I will recall doing cartwheels between some cop cars and firetrucks before being asked not to do so by law enforcement.
 |
| Obviously an opportunity to do a cartwheel..... (to the right of shot, a car had crashed into a building, nothing exciting) |
Ebonics
Ebonics is basically a lect of the English language most commonly used by African-Americans which incorporates slang, altered tenses and an interesting use of negation, there's actually some fascinating reading on it on Wikipedia. After a night out with my cousin and his friends and colleagues; most of whom were from his college where he coaches football, we end up at his friend's house, all I know is I'm still in LA. I remember it was a long drive home in the taxi. My brother Ivan had warned me to brush up on my ebonics before I got to L.A. as I would need it if I were to hang out with Philip. As soon as we got to his friend's house the lingo completely changed and I genuinely had no idea what they were talking about despite my undivided attention; something about his friend hanging upside down on a fence by his foot which had been impaled, it could have been metaphorical but it sounded funny.
 |
| My fantastic family, Ann and Ralph |
I wake up quite ill (hungover). It's the second time in my life a hangover has made me vomit, I can't keep water nor flat ginger ale down. I spend the day finalizing the essentials. Later that night Ann, Ralph and I go for a meal by a dock just by the Pacific Ocean. It was significant for me to have eaten here by the coast the night before I leave. It was a fantastic meal and it would probably be the last bit of fish I'll eat til I reach the opposite coast. Ann and Ralph also thoroughly enjoyed the meal as we sat around a big stone fire pit eating our meals.
I had secured a place to stay in Cathedral City through www.couchsurfers.org. A BRILLIANT organization. Some people don't like the idea of couchsurfing but it is honestly one of the best ways to meet a huge variety of different people with different interests but who are all so nice. Cathedral City would be my first checkpoint on my route to the East coast. The next day, on June 11th, I fitted the Irish tri-colour to the sissy bar and only now, was I well and truly ready to go.
No comments:
Post a Comment