Red Bull Does Not Give You Wings

I kept telling Jenny all week that I was feeling sick. I had a sore throat. It started the first day I left and was making it difficult to sleep at night. I thought I had a cold, but the sore throat did not go away. It got worse everyday. I was sucking on throat lozenges while I rode the bike and that made it workable. I was trying to ignore being sick and not letting it affect the experience. I didn’t want to get anyone else sick so I suggested to Les and William that they not pick up my beer by accident because they didn’t want what I had. I was getting worried about it because I’d never had a sore throat that lasted this long. It had been eight days since I first started feeling it and it had gotten progressively worse. The warning on the packet of Halls cough drops that I had in my pocket said if a sore throat lasted longer than two days I should see a physician IMMEDIATELY because it could be SERIOUS.

Don’t worry guys; you are safe. You can’t catch dehydration or stupidity.

I wasn’t paying attention to my water intake. Normally, not a big deal, but riding a motorcycle is very dehydrating. The wind blowing through my riding jacket, pants and helmet, through all the vents made for this purpose, was sucking the water right out of me. Nevada, Arizona and New Mexico have some dry air. I must have been losing pints of water every day to make my throat hurt as bad as it did. When I stopped for the day, I was hydrating primarily with beer and wine.

I left the morning after we delivered Leigh to Lake Number One. It was Saturday May 17th. I wasn’t feeling well and my throat was really hurting. I passed by the water section at the mini-mart in Raton and loaded up on throat lozenges. I also made sure I had plenty of Red Bull because it was going to be a long ride. I’d decided to drive back to Redding non-stop. The trip is 1500 miles and if I only stopped for gas and to stretch then I figured I could make it home by the following morning. In hind sight (what I call no-shit-sherlock vision), I would have had to average seventy miles an hour for twenty four hours straight without stopping, even for gas. This was, of course, more total stupidity. The dehydration must have been already working it’s magic on my brain.

I made it to Flagstaff by around 5PM. I had to stop for gas two or three times, load up on more Red Bull and lozenges, and stay moving. Right around the time the sun was setting, I started across the desert. We’ve been having a heat wave out West. The air temperature gauge on my bike was showing over one hundred degrees as I crossed into California sometime after mid-night.

I didn’t feel well when I rode past the Welcome to California sign. I figured that was because I'd been rattling down the road for sixteen hours.

At around 1:30AM, I turned onto Highway 58, which would take me over the Tehachapi Mountains and then down into Bakersfield. On my way up the pass, I was met by the cool air rushing down and tumbling with the hot air rising up from the desert. I wasn’t riding well and the wind was overpowering the bike. A few times, it blew me completely out of my lane. I was tense, bent low over the bike and concentrating hard. At some point, the wind died down. I don’t know how long I was driving like that, after the wind died down, but I was startled by a semi-truck passing me on the left. I glanced down to look at my speed and was surprised to find I was only going 30mph. While I was looking down at my speedometer, I noticed that the handlebars of the bike were moving father away from me. I looked up from the speedometer, but could still see the bars, with my hands on them, move farther and rise higher and higher and start to come closer and closer together until my hands were almost touching above my head. I was having a hard time driving the bike with the handlebars like this. It occurred to me then that I was having a problem and I was in big trouble. I had tunnel vision and I felt myself getting faint. There was no place to pull off the highway and I could not see very well. I had to stay focused and find a way to pull off the highway. After what seemed like forever, an exit came up and I took it.

I knew I could not balance the bike when I stopped so I put my feet down while I drove off the highway and dragged them down the off-ramp. When I got to the bottom, I let the bike keep rolling, through a stop sign, to a large dirt area just across from the off-ramp. I was holding the brakes hard because I was too confused to tell if I was pointed up hill or down hill. I just knew I was going to drop the bike out here in the middle of nowhere and not be able to get it up. I eased off the brakes to see which way the bike would roll but it didn’t go anywhere. Level ground. I then tried to get the kickstand down but couldn’t balance the bike on my right foot and kick the stand down with my left. I took me a long time to get the stand down. I then tried to shut off the bike but could not remember how to do it. I started turning, flipping and pressing buttons and the bike shut down. I stumbled off.

I was really woozy. There was a street lamp nearby and I could see that I’d pulled off in a semi-truck turn-around where they could change directions on the highway. It was a large dirt circle with grass and trees on the edge of it and about fifty yards behind me was an underpass for the trucks to go under the highway to get to the other side. I squatted next to the bike and started to feel sick. I considered lying down on the ground but this thought filled me with fear. I stood up, feeling that lying down right now would be end of me. I tried walking around the bike and shaking my hands and feet. I managed to get the hard case open on the back of the bike and found a can of V8 juice to drink. I also started drinking some water. Then I heard the animals in the grass and in the trees. There were so many of them. I saw movement in the grass and heard tropical birds and some low grunting noises. Mountain Lions. From behind me, coming from under the highway, I heard voices. I turned quickly and I could hear shuffling around as people were crawling from their cardboard boxes and talking. I could not make out what they were saying but I had to turn around and watch the grass line for the animals that surely were starting to make their way towards me. When I turned around, I saw three cartoony lion heads pop up quickly from the grass and then duck back down. I knew I was hallucinating. But I was really scared and the feeling of being stalked from all sides was very real. I thought that I should get the gun. I tried to remember where it was in the bags but I knew in my stomach that this was a bad idea. The rational part of me knew that getting the gun was going to turn out bad. I would end up shooting at noises or possibly being shot by the highway patrol if they happened to see me pulled off the highway looking around with a gun in my hand. I knew that there couldn’t be so many lions in the grass and people under the freeway discussing how if I kept my back to them long eoungh they would be able to reach me. I kept turning around and around looking for all the things that were surely coming to get me. I pulled out my knife, opened the blade, and held it in my hand.

Someone in a beat up truck pulled off the highway, drove past me, and stopped about a hundred yards away in the dark. I could see their brake lights. I had to get the gun. I moved quickly and pulled it free from one of the saddlebags. The truck started to back up towards me. I set the gun in the opened top case and freed the bullets where I had them in the zipper pouch in my camera bag. I fumbled the gun open and tried loading it but kept dropped the bullets. The truck backed up past me, then turned under the freeway and got back on going the other way. I think he must have been checking his map.

I was so confused and feeling very sick. I knew I had to calm down and get myself out of this situation. I was on top of the Tehachapi Pass at almost 3AM and there was nobody around. I couldn’t lie down, I couldn’t start shooting at phantom sounds and I had to work this out. I drank more water, walked around the bike, hopped up and down and stretched. I made myself walk over to the edges of the grass to prove there were no lions. I knew I could not get back on the bike if I was hallucinating.

I’m not sure how long I stayed there, but I started to feel a little less faint. I got the bike started up again and tried driving in circles in the truck turn around. No problems. I decided to get back on the highway. I paid special attention to the handlebars and told myself that if I could not keep my speed up or the handlebars started to drift that I needed to get right back off. It took me about an hour to get down to Bakersfield.

I was still very confused. It’s hard to know, when you are confused, how confused you are. On the way down, I started trying to go over my symptoms and figure out what was happening to me. I was a medic in the army and had some training in recognizing and treating heat related injuries. I spent several weeks each summer supporting tank crews in the Mojave Desert on field exercises. I drove an armored personnel carrier tracked ambulance and followed tankers around treating mostly heat exhaustion and hydration problems. Cold sweats, confusion, hallucinations, nausea … these were signs of heat exhaustion and dehydration. Oh yea, and a dry, sore throat. What a dummy. I needed water.

In Bakersfield, I stopped at a gas station that was clearly closed. I shutdown and got off the bike. I wondered why I just pulled into a closed station. This was not helping. I then drove a while longer and found central Bakersfield and pulled off at an open station. I filled up with gas and went in and purchased three bottles of water. The guy working the station was looking at me like I had a problem. I drank a bottle of the water and nearly threw up. I looked at myself in the side view mirrors on the bike and my face was flush, sweaty and my eyes were sunken. No wonder he was staring at me. He continued to stare at me from the store because I was sort of pacing around the bike for a while. There was a Best Western Hotel next the gas station. I was trying to figure out if I should go there. I could not decide if I should keep going or if I should try to get inside and cool off and rest. I got on the bike, started it up, and without deciding, just sort of drove over to the hotel, parked and went inside. I think maybe my body decided. By 4:30AM, I was in the shower running cool water over myself.

I left four hours later. I didn’t sleep because I was really wired from all the Red Bull and feeling really crappy. I heard the people next door talking and I decided that I must have woken them up when I came in and they were mad at me. I didn’t want to face them so I decided to leave a little after 8AM before they got up. I realize now that I was still acting very strangely and very confused. Why would I think the people next to me where angry? I'm not even sure I really heard them talking.

By 10AM, I was on Interstate 5, heading North. The sun was climbing higher as were the temperatures. Once it got above ninety degrees, I started to feel really bad again. Just like a few hours before up on the pass. I'd been drinking water and Gatorade and thought the worst was behind me. It seemed to help at first, but I started to get woozy in the heat. I drove for as long as I could but my riding started to deteriorate and I pulled off at an exit. There were no services on this exit and there had been no services for many miles and there were no signs of any coming up. But I needed to rest for a moment.

I could not have chosen a worse exit. I needed to get out of the sun and find some shade. It was over a hundred degrees by now and I was losing my grip on the bike and the situation. There was no shade except for a little postage stamp of a shadow from a small tree I'd passed a few minutes before. I kept driving father and father away from the freeway, into some farm lands. It all seemed very desolate. I decided I would go back and take that small amount of shade I'd passed by. It seemed inadequate, but it was apparently my only option. I had to pull off the road into the drainage ditch next it. My bike would not fit in the shade but I was able to sit down and pour water on my head and try to pull it together. Every now and then a car would pass me. I considered laying down but I thought I would pass out for sure and be in the direct sun light in no time. A highway patrol office, probably tipped off by a passing driver, pulled up. I was relieved to see him, but I could not believe what my mouth told him. He asked if I was “doing ok buddy?” I told him I was just taking a break from the heat. He told me I found the only shade for miles around. He said “you don’t have too far to go do you?” I had a sinking feeling and I told him I actually did have a ways to go. He asked me if I needed help… I said no. Watching him drive away, I thought about what a total fucking stupid person I was and wondered why I can never ask for help. Apparently, I’d rather die.

My efforts to cool myself were not working. My feet, hands and tongue started to tingle. I decided I had to make a run for it, from this shade, and make it to someplace with air conditioning. I swore to myself I would stay there and not get back out in this heat if I could only make it. I was scared for my life at this point and done being a moron.

I took a big drink of water, dumped some on my head, shirt, arms, back and chest and got on the bike. Not feeling stable or completely alert, I got back on the freeway. I pulled off at every exit and dumped more water on myself. I drove like that for about twenty more miles and came up on Patterson California which is essentially a truck stop. There was a hotel there and I parked out front, went inside and was able to get a room. I felt sure I would pass out right at the front desk but managed to be polite and patient and smile. I probably looked like a nutjob.

In the room, I filled the tub with cool water and got in it. My whole body felt like it was radiating heat, I was queasy and not able to stay standing very well. I got into bed and put some wet towels on my head and chest. I continued to feel worse. I’d drank water that day, but I felt like it wasn’t doing any good. I called Jenny and left a message to tell her everything was OK but that I’d stopped to rest. I called my parents, hoping to give the same impression, but as soon as I heard my Mom’s voice, I broke down. I’d scared myself, was feeling completely drained and completely ill. I cried and told her how bad I’d fucked up. My Father was ready to come and get me but I asked them to wait. I wasn’t sure what I should do. I felt at this point I should call for medical attention. I was worried that I’d dehydrated myself and overheated to the point that I was not going to be able to fix this myself. I called the front desk and asked them if they could go to the store and buy me some Gatorade or something similar. I thought I better try to get sugar and salt in me along with the water. I called my Mom back and asked her to find Jenny and tell her to come to Patterson to help me. I felt really shitty about this. Patterson was a six hour drive from home. I felt like I created a problem and now I was dragging other people into it. I wanted to do this myself, but was too spent to not ask for help. I also wanted to be able to complete my journey on my own and this felt like a failure.

Four hours later, I was still not able to cool down and I still felt horrible. Jenny was on her way. Jenny asked someone at the hotel to bring me food. When the person from the front desk brought me something to eat, she suggested that I didn’t look well and maybe I should call for medical assistance. She offered to call the local fire department and that they could assess me. I agreed and within a few minutes the fire men were in my room and then some paramedics came. My vitals were fine. The paramedics explained to me that I was certainly dehydrated and they could put an IV in me and take me to the hospital but felt that what I needed most was to eat. They said that without eating, the water I was drinking would not be absorbed into my body. They asked me to eat something, keep drinking water and electrolytes and try to sleep. They also told me I was going to feel badly for a few days.

They were right about eating. I forced myself to eat and within an hour started to feel a little better. Jenny showed up, I ate some more, drank some more and slept. The next day I got back on the bike to try and get it home and Jenny followed me in her car. I made it about an hour but started to get dizzy and was feeling nauseous again. Jenny told me that I was having problems riding straight and keeping up right on the bike. I had to agree with her. She suggested that we take the bike to my aunts house, which was a about twenty minutes away, and then I should get in her car and go home. So that’s what we did.

It’s now five days since that happened and I’m starting to feel better. Yesterday, my hands were too weak to type much but today I’m feeling stronger. I rode Jenny’s motorcycle a short distance today and had some trouble working the clutch and my balance was not one hundred percent right.

So, this is why I was slow to report that we made it to Number One Lake and why I haven’t mentioned my return trip until now. I've had to take a few days off from being me so I could recover.

Oops.

Success

On Friday, May 16th, the roads where clear and we made it up to Number One Lake with out any problems. Les and Harriett nailed a little angel into the tree where we laid her ashes. I scattered Scarlet's ashes in a ring around the tree and then right next to Leigh to keep her company.

Vermejo Tomorrow

In the morning, I'm following Les, William & Harriett up to the lodge. Les thinks that there is only one stretch of road where I might have a problem because it is 'slippery than shit'. I think he called it the 'Old Mine Road'. Sounds like Shaggy or possibly Thelma might have named it. Apparently it's steep and has a certain fecal viscosity that is going to give me trouble. Worst case, I'll leave the bike, jump in someone else's vehicle, and deal with it later. My ability to get the bike up to the lodge will not prevent Leigh having her special day.

We are going to bed feeling pretty good about our prospects to get to Number One. It is supposed to be nice weather tomorrow. I'm feeling relaxed about everything now that Leigh's family is here. If things don't work out, we'll all figure out what to do together.

Snow in the Mountains

I've arrived in Raton. It rained hard the first 100 miles, the temperature got down into the 30s and it’s been blowing hard all day. No problems on the ride. It took me a while to travel the entire 170 miles because I had to go slow. I didn’t realize how cold my feet had gotten until I tried to set them down on the ground to stop and almost dropped the bike.

This has been a sad day for me. I couldn’t stop crying for most of the day and that continues as I write this. I’m hoping to get it together before Les, William and Harriett arrive so I’m not difficult to be with.

We may have a problem. This late season storm has brought snow up in the mountains. It looks like a lot. Too much snow means we won’t be able to get to Number One Lake. I’m not sure what we’ll do if that happens. I'm not sure I can get the bike up to the Castillo Lodge either. It's an hour ride on a dirt road, up a mountain, and it's bound to be muddy.

In a panic, I tried to rent a four-wheel drive. This cannot be done in Raton. A very helpful employee at the Tourist Information Center offered me the use of the her Jeep. She said if she could not find me a four wheel drive before I walked out of there I could leave my bike and take hers Jeep. Ultimately, after trying four or five places, she called up to the Castillo and they reported getting snow for the last three days and seven inches just this morning. The lodge is at about three thousand feet below the elevation of Number One. She did not report that Number One was unreachable, but did say that several people have been stuck. The good news: they have a four wheel drive truck I can rent from the lodge. The lady at the Tourist Center gave me a big hug and I left. I drove my bike to a hardware store to get a shovel and some chain. When I pulled up, I thought about it, and decided that if it's going to happen then it's going to happen and I'm not going to be able to control this situation. I left without a shovel. If I had purchased a shovel, you can bet your ass I'd be posting a picture of it tied to my bike.

Can’t write any more right now.

My New Outlook

I rode about 410 miles today. I left Flagstaff at around ten this morning and arrived in Santa Fe, New Mexico, early this evening. I’m writing this from the bar at the La Posada. This is a place I came a few years ago with Leigh, Les and Rachel. We came to this hotel for a wine and cheese tasting put on by Justin Winery from Paso Robles. I didn't plan on coming here tonight and didn't realize it until I pulled up. The weird thing was that I was just thinking about this memory earlier in the day and now here I sit.

When I left this morning, I left with a new resolve to do some serious miles and focus on the reason for why I’m here. Yesterday, I questioned why I made this trip. Reminding myself that I'm here to honor Leigh made it all make sense. I started out this morning, not focusing on the day’s destination or scanning the roadside for reasons to stop or change direction. Instead, I focused on Leigh. I started from the beginning. I thought about the moment I knew I wanted to marry her, about moving her from Denver to San Francisco, about that transition and about the time we spent learning how to be together. I thought about the day we left in our car from San Francisco to Arizona so we could get married. I remembered slow dancing with her under an over pass on the freeway on our way there because I said we needed the practice and because she didn’t believe I would do it. I also thought about how I got annoyed at her because she bought a welcome mat for our apartment that I believed we could not afford. And then I had trouble going further with the memories. I do that. I get stuck on those moments when I know I behaved badly. I start to replay them in my mind and it pushes out all the other thoughts and memories. I apologized for getting annoyed later, but it’s not like I didn’t repeat that episode over and over again during our marriage. I was sorry each time, but I kept doing it. I’d get mad about something, I’d pout. Sometimes I would get loud and say shitty things. And later I’d be sorry. And then I’d do it again a few weeks later. We probably fought every five or six weeks about something. By ‘we’, I mean me. Leigh wasn’t the fighter. She put up with a lot of crap from me.

Before Leigh died, I’d always heard that it was never too late to apologize. I think that statement misses the mark. I can tell you now that it is too late to tell Leigh sorry for being an asshole on a regular basis and not recognizing that it was I, not her, that was the source of contention. I was always trying to convince her that she was wrong. I was pretty good at it. So now, too late, I’ve faced that and I’ve done something about it.

Although my therapist traded me for year-round seventy five degree temperatures, she did leave me with ways to recognize myself for who I really am, think about who I really want to be, and suggest ways to make up the difference between the two. It’s not like I don’t have my moments when I get angry or annoyed, but I’ve stopped looking for whom to blame for my bad mood. Too bad it’s too late to say sorry to Leigh for being like that. You can say sorry for something you said, but there is no more complete way to say I’m sorry and I love you than doing something tangible about it. Every time I think about a moment that I spent pissed off at her and telling her how she was wrong and what she should she do to stop being wrong, is a moment I stole from her and ultimately stole from me. You don’t get those back. Word to the wise.

So this is what I focused on. I focused on serious riding. I focused on Leigh. I maintained a Zen like state of purpose, thought and mission. Until I saw this sign.



Anybody who knows me well knows that I have a thing for cosmic destruction. I started seeing the signs miles away. Meteor Crater 23 miles. This is not why you are here. This is not the purpose of your ride. Meteor Crater 15 miles. Think of Leigh. Think of your mission. Focus on your life with Leigh and letting go of the things you can’t change. Meteor Crater 6 miles. After making this gesture of love to Leigh, you need to turn around and get home. You will not make it back on-time if you allow yourself to be distracted from the goal. Meteor Crater Next Exit.

The crater was awesome. When I made way up the stairs, past the museum and gift shop and out the doors to the walkway to the crater rim, I started to feel my heart race. This is THE crater by which all earthly craters are measured. A mere 50,000 years old, this crater is in perfect condition and tells the real story of what happens when the cosmos says ‘WHOS YOUR DADDY!’. WHAM!!! I started to tear up as I looked at the enormity of the devastation. I stood on the rim of the Grand Canyon a few days ago, and frankly, it was hard grasp. It’s just too big. Two hundred and fifty some-odd miles and ten miles across? It’s hard to really see it. I stopped every ten miles or so, while riding the canyon rim, and took a look. It looked the same as it did ten miles earlier. But this impact crater was something you could grasp. At one mile across and about five hundred feet deep you could definitely put your finger on this. You could feel the power of the Universe. If you believe in god, and you look at this impact site, you would probably feel like god should look the other way when this thing hits because something is about to fuck up his art project. The undeniable future of the human race can been seen just a few miles from a corner in Winslow Arizona. “Hey honey, we should really change these incandescent light bulbs to more energy efficient compact fluorescent bulbs. If every household in America installs just five of these bulbs, we’ll save seventeen million tons of greenhouWHAM!!!!

If I could choose my death, it would be by mass extinction. I’m a people person and would find some satisfaction in that.

But I tried not to stay too long. I felt the pull of my mission and I needed to get back on the road. I started focusing again and reaching for that Zen like state. Then I saw this sign. Rocks and wood together in one place? Free for the taking? Who put chocolate in my peanut butter!

Advice from a HIllbilly

One of my two readers has pointed out that my use of were and where is not always correct, and the she is distracted by this. I'm not thrilled that a hillbilly is telling me that my grammar is poor but I have to face truth.

East for Leigh, West for Me

As the two of you know, I’m not a stable person. The way I overcome this is by constant movement and engaging in ‘projects’. I’m always up to something. Otherwise, it gets too quiet in my helmet. But there is always a moment when I come up for air and realize the trouble I’ve made. Today was that day.

I didn’t really plan for this trip very well. II talked about it, I knew it was coming, but it was only a couple weeks ago that I decided how I was going to get here. Like I mentioned before, it’s so ‘big’ that I couldn’t simply get on a plane the day-of and show up. It had to have drama. This coming weekend has been sitting in the corner of every room I’ve been in for months just sort of staring at me.

I actually didn’t think it would be as difficult as it has been. Today I started to really feel the time I’ve been away from home, away from work and away from family. It’s only been five days but it feels like I’ve been gone longer than that. I’m feeling lonely and a bit tired.

I’m two-thirds of the way to Vermejo. It hit me today that I’m only one-third of the way through with the whole trip, considering that I have to go back. And I can’t be gone for fifteen days so I was really feeling a bit panicked today about what I’ve gotten myself into. Yesterday, I started to entertain thoughts of shipping my bike home or leaving it and flying back and coming back to get it later. But I couldn’t really dwell on that because I had to worry about staying up right and in one piece.

Sitting around today gave me too much time to think. I started working through the scenarios in my head. Then I called Rachel. You know how sometimes you are thinking about something and then someone says to you what you are thinking inside your head and that makes it real? Rachel mentioned that I had to ride the bike back and that is all it took to push me into a panic. I tried to be cool on the phone, but after I hung up I started to really think about the details. I started to think about how long it takes to drive one mile. And I thought about how every mile I drive east; I’m going to have to drive that mile back west. I had a few conference calls today for work and there were questions about when this project would be complete and when I could schedule that call and what exactly would be delivered.

I started thinking about how I needed to get back home. I started calling around to see about how you would ship a motorcycle home. I started to look into where exactly you could park a bike for a month or so at an airport like Denver and what the flight schedules looked like. I thought about the costs of implementing these plans, the amount of time it would take to set them up, how soon I could expect to put something in motion and where I would need to be to do that. The first two long-term parking lots I called said they don’t take motorcycles. I called a storage unit rental company but they didn’t have anything large enough on the ground floor that I could drive my bike into. I emailed one and called two shipping companies. Only one was open and they said they could get me a quote and shipping schedule by the middle of next week.

It was a frenzy of typing, calling and thinking.

And sinking.

And feeling like a dumb shit for doing this.

It’s hard to think clearly when thoughts are rushing through your head like the wind. Then a customer of mine called me on my cell phone and asked me for a meeting this week. I told them I was indisposed, but I could possibly do it next week. They asked me if I could do it first thing on Monday and I said no… but how about Tuesday at 10AM? Done. So working backwards from 10AM Tuesday, I had to throw out all the plans that would not put me back at my desk at that time. That was pretty much all the plans. The only way I can get back by then is to ride. And there is no ignoring the distance. The most direct route back from Vermejo is fifteen hundred miles. And driving a mile in a car is not the same as riding a mile on a bike. Somehow they are a lot farther on a bike. The most I can hope to ride in a day is about five hundred miles that will take about eleven hours if I only stop for gas and to let blood circulate in my legs and hands. That means, when I see a sign like this, I have to ignore them and keep riding. No matter if it explains why clowns are so scary, why I have a minimum room price and why I won’t eat a dirty food... all at the same time.

So, the panic has passed and I know what I need to do. This is a serious ride. I need to focus on being safe, accomplishing my mission and getting my ass back home to my family and commitments. I will have to apologize later for the abruptness of my visit to Vermejo.

This ride to Vermejo is a tribute to Leigh. I know she would be laughing until she cried at what I’m doing and she would appreciate it. And after I let her go on Friday, I know I have a life I need to race back home to. I know Leigh would appreciate that too.

Today, I Checked

After carefully considering the weather conditions, I've decided to stay in Flagstaff for another day.

Bike Has a New Look

Once, when I was sailing on San Francisco Bay in some really bad weather, I looked out on the water and I noticed that mine was the only boat out there. A few minutes later, about a mile off in the general direction I was heading, a bolt of lightening struck the water. I put the first piece of information together with the second piece of information and was able to spot the trend towards and undesirable result. It's this kind of thinking, this ability to pick out the subtleties of a situation, that has allowed me to run a successful business. Today, I was able to, once again, connect the dots and adjust my plans to meet the challenges of the day.

I noticed that there where no other motorcycles out on the road today, unless I just missed them because they where buried in the sand drifts. I also noticed that I was having to lean my bike over sideways to make it go in a straight line. I also noticed, that after driving through the fifth one mile stretch of hard blowing sand, that I was actually getting sand inside my closed helmet and somehow into the crotch of my pants. I also noticed the dark clouds building in front of me in the shape of an anvil. I was also able to notice when a gust of wind tore the windshield right off my bike.

After pulling off the road and checking my shorts for accidents, I decided to head for the nearest town. I was on a Navajo reservation heading towards more of the same so I turned towards Flagstaff and left my windshield in the sand.

Failure is always a chain of intricately woven events. I thought about this while listening to the face shield on my helmet starting to crack and tear. I thought about how one thing leads to another and if you can prevent the first event in the chain, then you prevent all the events. I would have been happy to never learn that my helmet was poorly made and that would have never come up if I'd checked the weather before I left this morning.

When I arrived in Flagstaff, I was a little shaken. I was going to call my Mommy, but being a grown man, I pulled out my Platinum Card and called the number on the back instead. American Express arranged a nice hotel room for me and told me how to get there and that everything was going to be fine.

Here is the funny part: I've 'learned' the lesson about 'checking the weather' a few times already. Thinking about it now, almost every time I've gotten myself into serious voluntary trouble, it was weather related. For the record, here they are:

1) Gilligan impression in St. Vincent with Leigh, Les & Rachel
2) Scud running in the Bay Area while exceeding the Pilots Operating Handbook's demonstrated crosswind component with Leigh
3) Demonstration of the temperature's effect on take-off distance with Mom, Barbie and Whitney
4) Super-Speedy trip to the Farralon Islands by using maximum outgoing current with David
5) All-day mountain wave riding and rivet test at thirteen thousand feet without oxygen with Leigh

To this list I can now add:

5) High-speed tooless wind sheild removal demonstration with Leigh and Scarlet

The two things all these events have in common are: I was steering & I didn't check the weather.

My therapist, the one who ruthlessly abandoned me, always stressed that everything is linked to my childhood and my family of origin. Besides getting excited at the fact that my parents are to blame for everything, I've had to work at tying my adult tendencies to my early childhood development. Not to get too deep here, but I think I don't check the weather because I grew up in Southern California where we didn't have any.

Retreat

Did I say I had winds yesterday? I should have kept my pie hole shut. I guess I should have checked the weather first:

WIND ADVISORY

CHINLE VALLEY-CHUSKA MOUNTAINS AND DEFIANCE PLATEAU- LITTLE COLORADO RIVER VALLEY IN COCONINO COUNTY- LITTLE COLORADO RIVER VALLEY IN NAVAJO COUNTY- LITTLE COLORADO RIVER VALLEY IN APACHE COUNTY-BLACK MESA AREA- NORTHEAST PLATEAUS AND MESAS SOUTH OF HWY 264- INCLUDING THE CITIES OF...CANYON DE CHELLY... CHINLE...KAYENTA... WINDOW ROCK... GANADO...WUPATKI N.M....TUBA CITY... WINSLOW... HOLBROOK...SNOWFLAKE...ST. JOHNS...SPRINGERVILLE...NAVAJO N.M.... DILKON...KYKOTSMOVI 133 PM MST MON MAY 12 2008

AN APPROACHING LATE SEASON STORM SYSTEM WILL BRING SOUTHWEST WINDS OF 20 TO 35 MPH WITH WIND GUSTS FROM 45 TO 55 MPH TO NORTHERN ARIZONA THROUGH SUNSET THIS EVENING.

A WIND ADVISORY MEANS THAT SUSTAINED WINDS OF 30 TO 39 MPH...OR GUSTS FROM 40 TO 57 MPH...ARE EXPECTED. WINDS THIS STRONG CAN MAKE DRIVING DIFFICULT...ESPECIALLY FOR HIGH PROFILE VEHICLES. CONSIDER SECURING LOOSE BELONGINGS ON YOUR PROPERTY.

Nevada Plate Project

As I mentioned before, I've decided to give the 'Silver State' an opportunity to come up with a more fitting state motto to put on their license plates. I figured I would turn this over to you, my two readers, to work out the details. I'm just an idea guy but my follow through is really poor. To help us, I've procured a plate from a Historic Route 66 crap shop. I'm using photoshop, but if you don't have photoshop, there are plenty of prisoners in Nevada that we could ask to help us out.


And to get things going, I offer these:

Just Let Your Whores Get Cold

I made it to the Grand Canyon last night. 278 miles. I had an overwhelming urge to get out of Las Vegas, even if it meant breaking down somewhere else. That tells you how I felt about it after last night. I should really go back there with Jenny some day. We’d probably have a lot more fun. I was really worried about the bike when I left this morning. I wasn’t sure if the bike would even start or not. It started right up. I’m not saying I didn’t have problem yesterday, but I think I can sum them all up for you: I do not know what I’m doing.

Here is the breakdown:

1) Bike feeling mushy: As it turns out, the freeways in Vegas are all grooved. This causes the bike to drift from left to right. It’s disconcerting, but harmless. Last night, the combination of exhaustion, traffic, nighttime riding conditions and moronship all conspired to make me feel like the bike was handling poorly.

2) Stuck Throttle: It was fine in the morning. I recalled Dirk telling me, as I drove off, that my bike was new and new bikes have little problems. I guess this was one of them.

3) Excessive Heat: Yes, the bike was hot. But I had just driven over four-hundred miles through the desert. This, apparently, makes the bike hot.

4) Bike Smoking: See above comment regarding heat.

I’d already called Dirk and told him I was having problems and asked him to HELP me. I left a message because he wasn’t working on Mothers Day. Now I have to call back and tell him the problem I’m having is a lethal combination of lack of skill and knowledge.

Today, I just went easy on the bike. When she got hot, we just pulled over and had a smoke. Both of us. I had a lot of slow moving traffic, to bake my left leg in, on the way out of Nevada. There is a big dam between Nevada and Arizona and you have to cross it to get into or out of the state. There was a long line of people trying to get out today. I had to pull over three times in the two hours I spent crawling along towards the dam. I would just wait for the engine to stop sounding like popping corn and then I knew it was cooled off enough to go a little further.

Anyway, I had bigger things to worry about. It was really windy today. I didn’t’ mention it before, but the trip from Reno to Vegas consisted of a lot of wind. I was being blown around but I managed to deal with it. I have a special relationship with the wind. I understand wind. I understand the power of wind and the impact of wind on a moving object. I understand concepts such as ‘crosswind’ and ‘apparent wind’ like they where my best friends. After all, I’m a sailor and pilot. Wind is the thing that gives us the gift of ‘lift’ and a crosswind is the force that causes us to learn how to quickly calculate the difference between our magnetic compass heading and the magnetic heading of the apparent wind as we are flying one-hundred miles per hour about 10 feet of the ground. Wind: bring it on.

But today, I got my ass handed to me. It was windy and it was really gusty. I had a hard time controlling the bike. There where moments today when I thought about turning back. The unfortunate thing about turning back is that you would be turning back right into the thing that is causing you to want to turn back. I had a hard time keeping the bike in my lane. I was blown off the road and on to the shoulder. I had to lean the bike so far over to counter balance it against the wind that I felt like I was auditioning for Cirque du Soleil. On turns, the bike was being back-winded so badly that I was being blown back up-right and could not hold the radius of the turn. I learned a lot about riding bikes today. When I started out today, I had like four or five weeks of experience riding. Now it feels like I have a month.

After driving across the Hoover Dam, I crossed from Nevada to Arizona. I was done with Nevada so this suited me. A few days ago, when I crossed from California to Nevada, I noticed that to get into to California, you had to go through and inspection station. To get into the Nevada you just had to drive past the “Welcome to Nevada” sign. This made me a little embarrassed of California as if we where saying to Nevada that we where better than it. Having traveled through Nevada, I see why we have the checkpoint. If I where Nevada, I’d let anybody in. I’d let all the illegal aliens in that wanted to come. After all, we aren’t using it. When I passed from Nevada into to Arizona today, the tables where turned. It was the Arizonians that had to pass a checkpoint. I was feeling pretty low about this. What could be so bad that Nevada would want to keep it out?

Once in Arizona, I started riding past more openclosed signs, more caved in roofs and more dilapidated townettes. I was really bummed about it.

Everything turned out fine! Arizona is a nice place. I think, like a bad pair of Depends, there must have just been some seepage at the borders. Arizona’s solution to having so many tore up little towns by the side of the road was to just not have any towns. If you see a gas station in Arizona you need to take the opportunity to fill’er up.

For the first part of my trip, I didn’t stop much, other than the smoking breaks, because there was nothing to see. I did have to hit the breaks once and come back to get a closer look at this. I marked this as a way point on my GPS. I mean to ask Jenny if she’ll let me bring her daughter here so I can explain to her the realities of life. I’ve asked before but Jenny is really against me doing this. For me, Halie represents the only opportunity in my life to tell a child that there is no Santa. In Arizona, there where lots more big lots of sand for sale. There where so many too choose from! I’m not sure what the attraction would be. Maybe if I was a polygamist or possibly a dinosaur I’d see the charm.

For a while, I was driving on or near the ‘Historic Route 66”. The people around here are pretty proud of this road. At one point, I stopped to take a break and found myself in one of these Route 66 historic districts. There where a busload of tourists taking pictures of everything. I think they where Germans. The where walking around, even walking onto the highway, taking pictures of everything they perceived to be Route 66 related. I looked over and one of them was taking a picture of my bike as if it was a part of the giant town sized display. I tried to put my camera into action and take a picture of her taking a picture of my bike. Not fast enough. So I asked her if she would do it again. She didn’t speak English and did not understand. I tried to explain what I wanted but the closest I got was this picture of her posing with my bike. She then handed me her camera and wanted me to take a picture of her with my bike. One of the other tourist saw this and from that point, it was game on. More of them kept coming, handing me their camera, and posing with my bike. My bike is a modern Harley-Davidson and did not really go with the 50’s styling associated with Route 66. Didn’t matter. After the fifth person handed me a camera and then motioned as if to ask if they could climb on the bike, I was done. I put on my helmet and started pulling on the gloves. This caused a stir in the crowd. I was surrounded by tourists that where getting hungry for ‘the starting’. I didn’t want to disappoint to I made sure to add a few gratuitous twists of the throttle. I also took off a little fast and carved the bike on a deep turn to join the road. I thought about how I would ruin everyone’s good time if I crashed while showing off. All this Route 66 excitement got me to thinking about trying to find an atom box in one of these kitschy stores. With a little luck I was able to purchase two candidates.


This box is made out of a rock. It’s been put on some sort of lathe and carved from a single piece. I was attracted to this because I told Harriett I was making a rock box to bout Leigh’s atoms in. Maybe I could pass this off for something I made.

I also found this frog carrying a ladybug. I called Leigh “Ladybug” so this made me think of her. And I’m the frog carrying her on my back across the pond so she doesn’t get wet.



I mentioned that I like Arizona. After an hour or so of riding through the desert, I started to climb to higher ground. I got up into the pine trees and green grass meadows. This is my kind of place.

For me, two of the more thrilling living creatures in this world are the Bristlecone Pine Tree and the majestic Elk. Seeing either of these will surely make my week and maybe my year. Nevada has a few Bristlecone but I didn’t see any riding through. The Bristlecone is the oldest living thing on earth. Some of them are over 4,000 years old. That makes them older than the earth according to some bible scholars and the oldest known specimen still alive today was 2,600 years old at the time of Jesus’ birth. Looking at one of these trees is a transcendental experience. But, like I said, I didn’t see any on my trip. Probably because those reprobate Nevadans chopped them all up for firewood to keep their whores warm. But Arizona was promising Elk. In fact, they where out and out threatening me with them. I passed sign after sign warning me that Arizona had elk and I better keep vigilant. An Elk sighting would complete me.

Happy Mothers Day

Happy Mothers Day to New Wife and my Mom. I love you both. I'm sorry to have to mention, once again, that this Holiday was made up by the Hallmark Corporation so they could sell more cards so I don't feel too bad for not being there. I took this picture for you of me posing and staying cool in the desert.

Keep'em Crossed

Last night, I was thinking that I might be here for a while. What are the chances of me finding a mechanic on Sunday in Las Vegas? I tried calling Dirk but he's closed for Mother's Day and won't be in until Tuesday. But now with four hours of sleep in me and feeling refreshed, I have a new plan. I checked with Tripple A to make sure they will tow my bike if I need help and they said they would. I'm going to go out to the bike, start it up and drive off. If it starts smoking right away or the handling is really bad then I'll go to plan B. If it seems to be working, I'm heading to Flagstaff which is in the ball-park of plan A. I should be leaving at Noon and that should get me to Flagstaff at around 5PM. I mention this here, just in case you don't hear from me. I may have broken down on the way.

The Fall Guy

I had trouble getting up this morning. Having not slept well for several days, I think I’ve worn myself out with all the fretting required for me to go on this trip. I left Reno at around ten o’clock this morning. Or maybe it was eleven. Reno is a sprawling place with tract-mobile-housing developments and it takes a while to get out.

The GPS is really working out. I pre-loaded all the routes I was going to take from my computer and sync’d them to my GPS. I labeled them Day 1, Day 2 etc. I checked the unit and everything looked A OK. When I pulled out of my driveway yesterday and powered it up and went looking for ‘Day 1’ I found that I had ‘no data’. All of them where gone. No biggie, I just looked up the Silver Legacy in Reno on the map and off I went. I didn’t need the routes and it was unlikely I’d stick to them one-hundred percent anyway. When I left Reno this morning, I saw a sign stating that Las Vegas 440 miles away. After riding for an hour, following the GPS, I saw a sign that said Last Vegas 453 miles. This seemed inconsistent with the purpose of a GPS. But at the same time, it met my stated goals of taking a long time to get there so I continued to follow the pink line it was painting for me on my little GPS screen. Trip ended up taking 482 miles.

Other than it taking me on some really interesting roads through small shitty towns, where most everything was boarded up, it was generally getting me closer to Las Vegas. I’ve never said to myself “Hey look, an acre of sand for sale!” so many times. There was lots of crap dumped on the sides of the road. I passed several landfills on the way too. I think they should do better job of increasing customer awareness or consider lowering their prices. I also passed a huge, dead, salty lake. They had a sign that boasted “20 Miles of Beach”. It was desolate. I’m not sure why you would come to this place. Maybe to fish for gefelte? Maybe to take your pickle water skiing? Across from the ‘beach’ there where some dramatic rock formations. Unfortunately, they had a bit of spay paint on them. I tried to read them all as I drove by. “Jason Loves Clair” was a common theme. And there where a lot of “Jesus Saves”, “He Died For YOU” and “Jesus Lives”. I looked for a small hardware store for the next few miles so I could get a can of paint. I was going to ride back and write “Jesus Hates Graffiti”. Unfortunately, everything in Nevada is closed.

I rode past business after business with signs promoting various goods and services yet the businesses they referred to where all tits up. Some of them started advertising miles before you came up to the proprietor: “Best Beef Jerky Around” and then “Fresh Jerky” and then “Don’t Miss Our Jerky”. And then I’d come up on the jerky making enterprise and it would have a caved in roof. Jerky did not look fresh. There was a lot of bi-polar marketing where a business would have both an “Open” and a “Closed” sign. The open signs where bright and hopeful and confident. The closed signs where sometimes painting hastily on the wall, possibly while a running car was waiting. In these sign battles, 'Closed' had always won.

I stopped at around noon and pulled off on a dirt road and drove out of sight of the highway. I’ve learned, that if you stop a Harley on the highway everyone stops to try and ‘help’. “Are you OK buddy?”, “Need a cell phone?”, “Are you in trouble”.
I guess you could say this was foreshadowing but more on that later. Anyway, I pulled off the road, made sure there where no snakes or scorpions where I was going to put my feet down, ate my sandwich, smoked one of the cigarettes I stole from my father, shot at a car part, an appliance and a glass bottle. I wasn’t going to bring the handgun with me but my Father told me I should. He’s really smart, has a Master of Education and gave me sound advice all throughout my life. I listen to him. And so far, the gun has been a real hit with me. I like to shoot stuff. Now I need more ammo. After lunch, I rode back up to the highway and took off down the road.

I know I’m sounding very down on Nevada but I’m just telling it like it is. I would prefer to avoid this state on my way back. I spent a lot of time today staring at Nevada license plates. I came up with a new slogan for them: “Nevada: Skip It”

Hey, that was fun, I think I’ll do that some more later.

I avoided “The OTHER Box” issue today for most of the morning and afternoon. I thought maybe I’d give myself the day off from starting to look for one. But, of course, if you don’t start looking in the first place you really can’t take a day off. I did a fast U-turn to go back to a little general store I saw. I was able to see a part of a counter display when I blew by, because I don’t think they had a door, and it seemed that it might be a good safe place to start my hunt. They had a roof and everything.

They claimed to have ‘antiques’ but it was really just a garage sale where they charged sales tax. I could not find anything suitable during my first pass through the store but then I spotted a thermos from an 80’s TV show on the bottom shelf below some commemorative Amish Country shot glasses. When I was checking out, the proprietor discovered that my thermos lacked a price tag and she bemoaned having to “look it up in the book”. Unfortunately, this gave us an opportunity to chat.

Are you a fan of “The Fall Guy”?

No

What do you need this for?

I just need a really good thermos.

I’m not sure this is what you are looking for.

It’s just what I need.

I don’t know if this is going to work well for you! It’s not a good thermos. It’s more for children’s milk! (getting upset)

It’ll be great for me. It’s perfect.

I don’t think it even opens anymore. Have you made sure it will work?

Nothing will work for what I’m going to put in it.

She looked at me like I was a total weirdo after I said that. Personally, I think she shouldn’t have been judging me. I’m wasn’t the one selling a used 80’s TV show thermos for $3.50 on a remote highway in an essentially deserted state. And besides, across the street from her shop, in plain view of where we where talking, was a line of one-room bright pink single wide mobile homes with a giant letter on each unit spelling out “P L A Y M A T E R A N C H”. I’m sure she has better customers to pass judgment on than me.

Nevada is tore up.

Eventually, I made it to Las Vegas. And with Vegas, came traffic. I went from a single lane, sometimes dirt like, road to a big-time seven lane express way with lots of merging, darting cars and lights. The sun had set and I was not seeing well or riding well. My bike seemed to have really mushy handling like I had a flat tire or something. It was also running really hot. It had started running hot about a hundred miles earlier. I’d pulled into a gas station and it would not idle right. The engine was revving up even though I had released the throttle. I had just pulled off the highway when the RPMs shot up. I pulled up to a gas pump and killed the engine. I let the bike cool off a little, filled it up with gas and then was back up to highway speeds, right out of the pumps, and sort of forgot about it.

Now, in Las Vegas on a Saturday night, in traffic, the super hot over-revving bike was an issue. I knew I had to get off the freeway and to the hotel to figure this out. I was so tired, having rode all day through the desert, that I couldn’t think straight. It seemed to take forever to get to the Bellagio. If you’ve ever been to the Las Vegas strip you will be able to relate to this. Once off the expressway, it was a total mad-house. It took me forty-five minutes to get from the off-ramp to the Bellagio parking garage which is only about two miles. At this point, the bike was burning the crap out of my left leg. I was riding with my right foot bent behind me and hooked up on the rear passenger pegs to try to get it away from the heat of the engine. The bike was riding horribly but there was so much traffic I could not pull over, even if there was a place to pull over.

I was managing by shifting to first with my left leg, throttling up with my right hand, rolling five feet, hooking my left foot back on the rear passenger peg, breaking with my right foot, leaning right so the bike would fall that way so I could balance it on the right foot only, clutching with my left hand, rolling the throttle opposite direction with my right hand to force the revving engine down. I was processing these steps with my left brain leaving my right brain free to be embarrassed. Sometimes this would not work right and the bike with lurch, choke or I would nearly hit the car in front of me. I had about a football field’s length left to go.

I had to forcibly crank the throttle the opposite direction you would normally twist the throttle otherwise the bike would starting revving higher and higher. And it was making a really strong burning smell. I hoped it was not flesh. It was hard, if not impossible, to operate the bike in bumper to bumper traffic with the throttle stuck. My hand kept slipping off the grip and the bike would jump, backfire and boom because of the ‘twice as loud’ pipes that Dirk put on it (see earlier post). Did I mention how loud my bike is now? Try pulling it into a “valley” of fifty story mega hotels and take a listen to the echo it makes in that canyon.

You may have heard about the big fountain show they have in front of the Bellagio. Every hour, they have a fantastic dancing water show timed to beautiful music from the likes of the blind opera singer Andrea Bocelli. That was at least what they where trying to play tonight. There were hundreds and hundreds of people, from all over the world, lined up in front of the Bellagio with their lovers, families and video cameras to watch the show. Unfortunately for their keepsake moment, I was ten feet away from them, stuck in traffic, with an obnoxious modified Harley-Davidson with a stuck throttle. And did I mention that it was hot and sort of burning? I wasn’t the only one who could smell it. It was a scene. And it lasted for what seemed like forever. I was finally able to make the turn into the parking garage and locate a place to park the fucking bike. I pulled in, shut it off and jumped off like I was on fire. Because I was. My pants where actually smoking. And the bike was smoking. A lot. I’d parked in a motorcycle parking area and I started to get concerned that it would catch on fire and then catch all the other bikes on fire and cause even more embarrassment. And then I rescued Leigh. Fortunately, the biked stopped smoking. I don’t know what is wrong with it, why it was driving like it had two flat tires, why it got so hot, why the throttle was sticking and why it was smoking.

I was sweating so bad from all the heat but I did not want to take my jacket off. The Bellgio is a nice hotel. It’s full of people in dresses, suits and black evening wear. I did not want to walk in there with a soaking wet t-shirt and my hair matted down smelling like burnt kevlar and leather with no explanation. Did I mention it was hot? It was like 90 degrees at 9PM in Vegas. I thought that if I had the jacket on it would be more obvious that I rode a motorcycle in and that might explain the way I smelled.

I went to the lobby and checked in. I had Leigh with me but I’d left all the crap on my bike. I was just too tired to carry it all. I don’t have one bag. It’s more like six smaller bags and it’s like juggling puppies trying to carry it all at once. I learned that, the night before, in Reno. I asked for a bellman. What I got was Sherry.

Sherry was really helpful and inquisitive. She came with one of those big rolling carts and pushed it out to my bike with me and started asking a lot of questions. I had just been through a real tough time and I was not in the mood to talk. I was a little distracted and disoriented and was having a anxious and surreal moment. Sherry told me that if I had any questions about San Diego, she knew that area real well, so I should ask them while I had the chance. My brain sort of hung on this. San Diego? That was like six hours away. Why would she think I’d want to ask about San Diego? I was really confused already and this really put me off center. No explanation for this non-sequitur was forthcoming. Then, as we rolled out to the parking structure, she told me to be careful of the ‘air’. Lots of people have asthma attacks because of the ‘air’ in the hotel. Huh? She must have seen my total confusion and she became defensive. She told me it wasn’t funny and that a guest had a bad asthma attack and had to go the hospital and she’d had one just last week. We started getting close to the bike and I noted it was not smoking. Good. When we got up to it, she reached for the black plastic box. It happened so suddenly, I was caught off guard. I held on to it and would not let go. I could not get the words out fast enough. My brain instantly went to an image of her taking the box from me, reading the label, being surprised at what she was holding, dropping it on the concrete and it breaking open. I pulled, she pulled and I could not believe that she was so insistent. I finally blurted out “This is MY WIFE” and she let go. She was surprised, but did not understand. I was stuck at this point. I told her this box contained my wife’s ashes and that I was on a road trip to New Mexico to meet her family so we could spread them. She got that. I said I’m just not comfortable with anyone touching this box. She got that too.

I realized, at that moment, that I’m the only one that has held this box, other than the mortician. He handed it to me about a week or so after Leigh died. Walking into the mortuary was an other-worldly experience. I parked an their empty lot and walked into the building. It felt like I was walking on sponges. I'd driven there in Leigh’ s mini-van and when I came back out, I put it between the front seats. Afterwards, I drove to the grocery store and went inside. I didn't need anything, but I had an overwhelming need to do something normal. I’ve never felt so alone in my life.

I put Leigh on Sherry’s cart. I put her sort-of in the middle so she would not fall off and cause a scene. Both Sherry and I had trouble making eye contact at this point. I walked back over to the bike, opened up the big case on the back of it and looked inside at the revolver. I shut the case real fast. I totally forgot about the gun. It was sitting right on top of everything. I was trying to think of what to do. Should I tell Sherry that I had everything I needed? Would she think it was odd that I’d called a bellman to cart up one small box of loved-one to my room? I needed a diversion. I walked around the bike and opened a saddle bag on the opposite side of the way the top bag opened so you could not see the contents when I opened the lid again. I asked Sherry to get the things out of that saddle bag for me and when she ducked down to get them, I grabbed the gun, folded it up in my jacket, laid the jacket on the ground. I then started grabbing things I actually needed so I could put them on the cart. Sherry cut me off before I reached the cart to take them from me like a good bellman should. She said is was her job to put things on the cart. I was flustered at this point. I started taking things out, then putting them back, then taking them out again… Sherry started looking at my crossways. At that point, I knew I had to bring this moment to and end quick so I bent down and grabbed the jacket with the gun rolled up in it so I could stuff it in the bike’s top case and shut the door. When I stood up with the jacket, Shery was right there to grab it from me. She pulled, I pulled and I sort of snapped at her that I CAN TAKE THIS MYSELF! And then I stuffed it in the top case and slammed the case shut and locked it. That probably didn’t make sense to her but I had locked it up and I was heading to the room. I could tell that Sherry was sort of put off by me now. On the uncomfortable elevator ride up to my room, she re-iterated the warning to not breathe the ‘air’. She said sternly "I mean it". I held my breath as long as I could and then turned away so she couldn't see me gasp for more air then looked back at her quickly and smiled.

Once in the room, I tried to help carry the bags in but she would have none of it. I gave her a $20 tip because I felt like she had carried a big burden up to my room. The box seems to weigh about a million pounds to me and I figured it was not her average customer service job. The $20 tip was a mistake because now she started being even more helpful. I wanted her to leave so bad but she just kept being helpful. She asked me if I had a network cable for my laptop. I said no. She then said that there is a network jack in the wall, and they run a cable from the wall to the desk lamp, and I could just take the cable, that runs form the wall to the lamp, and plug in my computer directly. She laid down on her back and slid under the desk and started unwinding the cable. She said they had it screwed in with a cable clip and asked me if I had a Leatherman. I really wanted her to leave. I said I did not. She said she could try and bite off the clamp with her teeth. I wanted to grab her by the ankles and pull her out from under the desk but I did not want to be impolite. I asked if there was another way I could get a cable and she told me they have them in the mini-bar but they are $4 and she was trying to save me some money.

After Sherry left, I got a network cable and three beers from the min-bar. I felt better and decided to go get the gun off the bike. I went down there with my riding gear on, for the same reasons I mentioned earlier. I figured I would just reach in, grab it, put it in my waistband, and come right back to the room. It was only as I was walking down there that I started to get worried. It was probably all the surveillance cameras and security guards that got me jumpy. When I got to the bike, I started looking around for the cameras but then I thought that all the looking around is going to bring attention to myself. I just walked up, opened the box, grabbed the gun and left. I’m not sure what the gun laws are in Nevada but I’m sure I know I was committing a felony by California standards. Bad advice Dad. This scores right up there with “Don’t take a drink of your beer as you are driving through an intersection because that’s where they get you”


Anyway, day two is now at and end. Only eight more to go before I start heading home.

The OTHER Box

The best part about this trip is seeing Leigh’s family. I’m feeling anxious about every other part of it. I’m especially happy to see Harriett. I’ve seen Will a few times and I’ve seen Les and Rachel for some good long visits in the last several months but it’s been a long time since I’ve seen Harriett. Harriett played a huge role in my life, not only as my Mother in Law, but she also worked for my company and we had daily contact about all manner of issues. Since Leigh’s memorial bash, we’ve not really spoken much. That probably has a lot to do with the twenty-year-old neighbor girl I was hitting on after Leigh’s memorial party. In my defense… we’ll I don’t think I really have to explain. Maybe you think I need to explain this. Just in case, I’ve set up a special FAQ to handle questions about this. It tells you everything to do in case your wife suddenly dies. It has a special section for those of you whose wife’s where intricately woven into your sense of self and who you are now lost without. It also has a special section on memorial service etiquette that you should pay special attention too. It’s available at www.doesnotexistandnowyouarefucked.com. Anyway, you can see why she was uncomfortable.

I really assed that up.

Harriett asked me a while ago if she could have some of Leigh’s atoms. I was happy to say yes. I’m not sure if Harriett feels the same way as I do about this but I don’t feel like I own Leigh’s atoms and it’s not my place to be the decider. But I was really happy she asked and I was really happy to say yes anyway.

I haven’t been ready to do anything with Leigh's atoms until recently. I really appreciate her family giving me all the time I needed and being really understanding about this. I feel privileged to have been able to make the decision about what to do with her atoms and I’m grateful that everyone supported the decision that was not even mine to make.

Harriett asked me about Leigh’s atoms very early on. I think it must have been even before her memorial shindig. She asked if she could keep a small number of Leigh’s atoms. Possibly two or three trillion of them. Just a tablespoon. I, of course, said yes. But at the time, the thought of opening the black plastic box was too much for me to bear. During that time, I was having really bad anxiety attacks. I don’t think anyone knows the full extent of these attacks except for possibly New Wife. To give you a hint about how these anxiety attacks worked: I would experience a triggering even such as having a thought about Leigh or a favorite television show would change nights or I would have a glass of water… and then I’d have a full-on anxiety attack. If you’ve never had one, then good for you. There is no explaining the experience.

Now that I’ve challenged myself with that last comment, I suppose I’ll try: An anxiety attack is similar to a shark attack. It feels exactly the same. If you think I’m exaggerating then you’ve never had one. If you have been attacked by a shark then I’ll pick a different more obscure analogy that you will not be able to claim some personal experience with.

Anyway, the thought of opening up Leigh’s atom box was so out of the question.

I went shopping a few times for a more appropriate atom holder but it didn’t’ work out. “Hi, I’m looking for a nice container that I can put my wife in!” and “Oh! That is wonderful! How many ounces will it hold?”. I wasn’t up for it. And honestly, I wasn’t up for the transfer. I did not want to open the black plastic box. I really cannot tell you how much dread that thought fills me with. So far, the contents of the black plastic box have been theoretical.

And honestly, I still don’t. I have been steeling myself for the moment in Vermejo when I have to open the box.

I’ve played different scenarios out in my head:

1) I am a solemn, brave, loving, strong pillar of a husband. I select the most beautiful spot at the lake and everyone nods their approval. I say some very sweet loving words any everyone starts crying silently to themselves. We are all able to maintain eye contact. I wet my finger and test the direction of the wind. I politely ask everyone to move upwind of me. I open the box, in one swift loving movement, and the contents whirl up from the container and spread themselves evenly into the wind. Some of Leigh falls on the ground I’ve selected, but some also drift towards the lake which is good because that is what Les secretly wanted to do with them and some drift into the air and go higher and higher and disappear from sight because that is what Harriett wished. William is happy that his parents got what they wanted and he is full of joy, but not too much joy, because it is a solemn occasion. We all walk away, silently, but slightly smiling at each other because of a job well done.

2) I get really sick and have to go the hospital that day because I’m unconscious.

Anyway, that is not the big problem. The big problem is that I need a smaller box to give to Harriett to hold the atoms she wants to keep. Not only do I have a transfer issue (do I do it before? Will I have an anxiety attack if I do that? Should I drive to the hospital and do it in the parking lot just in case? Should I wait until that day so I only have to open the black plastic box once? What kind of disease could I get on short notice that would cause me to become incapacitated?) See, I wanted this box to be special. I gave myself a pass on keeping Leigh in the black plastic box because I always told myself that I was going to spread the atoms anyway so it was fiscally prudent not to invest in a fancy box. But I told Harriett that I was making a special box for her.

I, in fact, did the following:

1) I bought a rock cutting saw so I could do it myself and it would have MEANING
2) I selected some rocks from home so they would have MEANING
3) I had my contractor make a small box out of rustic cherry-wood that I could use for the base box structure. I would have made it myself but realized that while that would have had additional MEANING, it was not realistic.
4) I cut the rocks into slices with the saw. I breathed in more rock than I cut and I got many MEANINGUL slices of unfortunate thicknesses
5) Per my contractors advice, I acquired mortar and silicon caulk. I planned on mixing my dead dog Scarlet’s ashes into the mortar so Leigh would be encased by MEANING.
6) I did not have a silicon caulking gun to make the juice come out so I pushed the handle of a squeegee into the bottom of the container and it exploded open and went everywhere
7) I glued three rocks to the box and I started to have a sinking feeling regarding the gap between what I imagined doing and what I was actually going to manufacture
8) The MEANINGFUL rocks I sliced did not fit the box so I started to cut them into smaller pieces and my hand slipped into the saw blade and I’m not sure how I did not cut it off but I got really dizzy in the instant after it happened and it felt like I had been kick in the nads
9) I went to my Fathers house and drank beer on his porch

So now, I have no box. My plan is that I will find a small box on the way that will be wonderful and will have MEANING. For a second, I looked in the Harley-Davidson store in Reno to see if they had a suitable container. I second later, I realized how not-well this would go over. This made a bit queasy.

I will find a box, somewhere between here and Raton. This box will be better than the box I would have made. This box will make Harriett happy. She will know, the instant she sees it, that I loved her daughter more than anybody that ever loved any girl ever in the history of all boys and girls who loved each other.

Let me check the FAQ. I think there is a section on appropriate containers for wife’s atoms, which I should read, so I don’t ass this up.

Bad Boys Bad Boys

Arrived in Reno Nevada. The trip was 198 miles from Whitmore. My behind was hurting when I got here so I’m just not going to mention that again. The ride over the mountains was very cool. I won’t subject you to descriptions of the natural beauty so suffice it to say that there was a lot of it. If I had to pick out one thing to highlight, I would say that the mountain meadows where on fire with yellow flowers and full of new grass, streams and streamlets.

I didn’t learn anything about riding a motorcycle on this leg of the trip other than when your legs get tired and you move your feet from the pegs to the running board, don’t accidentally miss and set a foot down on the highway at seventy miles per hour. I guess I also learned that when you add a bunch of weight to a bike it doesn’t turn quite as well so you should make sure you don’t turn wide into oncoming traffic. I also learned, while riding through Lassen National Park that Smokey the Bear has lightened up. He’s changed his slogan to “Prevent Forest Fires” which means he’s dropped all the finger pointing. And while I’m on the subject of slogans, Lassen Parks slogan is “Land of Many Uses”. The people that make up the slogans must have used up most of the marketing dollars on Yosemite and Yellowstone National Parks and only had about seventy-five cents left for Lassen.

Reno doesn’t smell right. As soon as I pulled off the highway into the downtown area, I started to get a wiff. I tried pulling my face shield down but it didn’t work. For a whole town to smell, you need a lot of people in close collaboration. This has to be a public initiative. The smell is i-smoke-in-my-pontiac-with-the-windows-rolled-up-plus-lavender. When I was walking through the ‘resort’ towards the lobby I got a lung full it at close range from a lady who brushed past me. Do you mean to smell like that or is the shower in your RV not working? I’m trying to think decent thoughts about Reno, but as I drove through town, kept hearing the theme song to “Cops” in my head.

I’m staying at the Silver Legacy ‘Resort’ and Casino. I don’t want to sound like a snob, but when I book a room in a hotel, I have a minimum price. I think if a hotel is less than $70 a night, it’s probably in a bad neighborhood and there are probably carpet stains on the ceiling. This place was $69 a night and it was the most expensive place they had except for the smoking ‘hot tub room’ which one quick visual on that makes me cough a little up.

Having not eaten, I went down to the casino to find food. They had a Harley-Davidson shop IN the casino. This is both good and bad news. Good because I can get another Harley t-shirt. Bad because it’s yet more evidence that I’m riding a chrome plated cliché.

I tried to gamble. I'm not super big on it to begin with. A card table, which requires human interaction, was out of the question. That left the slots, but I don't really get them. First, I know I'm totally going to get ripped off which starts me out with the wrong attitude. And the thought of reading the wild-assed graphics on a slot machine trying to figure out if I've won or lost makes me feel like a moron. I tried to find an easy slot machine. I walked around reading the names of the games. "Consolidated Multi-denomination Triple Cherry 5 Card Stud" seemed out of my league. I settled on a machine that said "Anything Higher Than Jacks". I liked that it seemed to have the instructions, in big letters, right on the front. I saddled up on the most germ free looking one of the lot but it wanted me to put in my "Winners Circle Card". I'm not sure what that is, but I can tell you that I HATE IT when the checker at the grocery store asks me for my club card. I think it must have been something like that. I feel like they are telling me they won't overcharge me if I join the 'club', otherwise they are unfortunately going to have to really fuck me over. That pretty much put the kabash on my gambling. I'll try again in Vegas.

I’m writing this from a bar in the casino that has a fake mining rig that is possibly fifty feet tall. It runs through a hole in the center that goes through the roof and into the second floor of the casino. Someone just handed me a form that reads “DUELING PIANOS – Hey Piano Guys! Would You Play…” and then you fill in the rest. This has caused me to look up from my computer. I do in fact see two pianos on a stage, facing each other. There are a couple guys in black, cracking their knuckles up there and running their fingers through their mullets. I’m outie.