There and Back Again

Tim has been trying to use that title for everything trip related. Apparently it's from The Hobbit or something. Whatever, it's a title. ANYWAY! If you're worth your girth in bandwidth the RSS feed from my bed springs should tell you that I've been laying here for a good part of the last 40 hours or so. I didn't have any blogging time in the last chunk of the trip and I needed some processing time before getting back into it, so here goes the wrap-up:

LA FRONTERA

When I last left you we were in San Carlos dreaming of the motherland. The next day (or something) we headed out. The final run through Mexico was rather uneventful, though we did undergo a token microcosm of the road trip troubles we'd read about when we were fleeced on our final taco bill to the tune of $whateveryoucanhaveit.00 and got our bags checked passively enough at the last military checkpoint. After waiting a few minutes in line at the Nogales border crossing Kali's bugaboo of a bike was so conflicted about the return home that she had a nervous breakdown. While stopping to see what happened I dropped our bike and there we all were, a bunch of American idiots feeling right at home. As we sat 30 feet into the United States, Joe and Kali staring into Lupita's bowels and Tim and I staring at Mexico-then-the-ground-then-Mexico-then-the-ground time ceased to matter. Not in any profound or metaphorical sense, but because the fear of banditos would no longer stop us from driving at night. Joe's electrical artistry made quick enough work of Lupita's fuss du jour and by sundown we were set up comfortably in Tucson, AZ's famous Travel Inn. Some old raggedy motherfucker was loitering as Kali was unpacking her bike and apparently tried to lure her into staying at some sort of homeless camp instead. His reasoning was that the bikes would get stolen outside of the motel. While the logic was undeniable, we stubbornly stayed at the motel anyway. (We still have the bikes). We ate dinner at a pub with American beer and free shuffleboard. We ate American things and spoke in American tongues and fell asleep in a room reeking of American sweat. The next morning we ate American fruit loops and set off in search of gold.

FAMILY

On zero notice (this theme will continue) we were graciously received by Tim's and my aunt- and uncle-in-law(?) in Peoria. But not before Kali's bike wouldn't start at a gas station of course. Rick and Darcy's house supplied the holy trinity of friends, booze, and a hot tub. We had a hell of a time, and are eternally grateful for the hospitality. On Rick's recommendation we rode the next day to Parker, AZ, a border town on the Colorado River. Because only Kali had been lucky enough to drink gasoline while in Mexico, we decided to run two bikes out of gas on the way there. Joe's fancy new machine made it to the gas station where he filled up so we (and by "we" I mean Tim, Joe, and Kali) could siphon fuel into the other two tanks. Thanks, guys! Here's a blog and a mint toothpick in exchange! Unfortunately our miscalculation delayed our pilgrimage to the Desert Bar, a traveler's destination four miles down a dirt road off the freeway. It's built on old mining grounds and retains some of the artifacts and all of the heredity. That's probably a stretch, but despite the tourist bent it was unmistakably country. The same can be send for the campground we used, which was on a still kink of the Colorado River. We looked across the water to vacation homes, but we did it to the sound of our next-site neighbors playing some well-practiced folk music, flautist and all. In the morning we socialized some with other campers (motorcycles are retiree magnets) and were intimidated into paying for our plot by the young, tattooed ranger.

J TREE

I'm not the most enthusiastic camper in the world, but I was thoroughly excited when we reached our campsite the next day at Joshua Tree. We were at a lower elevation campground which meant we were not among the cartoony eponymous trees, but we were right up in the mix of the equally iconic rock formations, which made the hundreds of dollars we had just spent on climbing shoes at the Phoenix REI feel well worth it. Or at least not entirely pointless. We loaded up on firewood and Fireball, climbed to the top of our local rock pile, and filled up on hobo packs and s'mores so we'd have sufficient energy for the worst night of the trip. This time of year is peak season at Joshua Tree, but I don't really know why. It is windy as shit. If the noise of the wind slamming our tent hadn't kept me up, the slamming of the tent against my body surely would have. The were two pretty good things about that night though: 1. when I got up to re-stake the tent in the middle of the night the Milky Way Galaxy was bright enough to see without my glasses on; and 2. the night eventually ended. There was some residual momentum the next day when we set out to explore the park but it was sapped by the cold air of the high desert. We did some walking, saw some rams, and deflated at the discovery that the "beginner" climb recommended to us was way out of our league. We were weary by the second night and our lethargy the next morning convinced us to cancel our primo reservations for the next two nights at Big Sur. After five weeks of physical discomfort we were in no mood to get cold and dewy so Big Sur was relegated to the bucket list as we pushed on to the familiar confines of the Bay Area and our stash of cold weather gear. At exactly 500 miles it was the longest ride of the trip and it compounded our misery. The highways east of LA are pretty much all desert, and in the winter that means you lean 45 degrees into the wind as you ride. On any other road trip I would have dreaded the monotony of I-5 through central California but the conditions between Bakersfield and the Bay were calm and warm, and on that ride it was paradise. Until the sun went down anyway. Three hours on the motorcycle was typically where I started feeling ready to get off. After nine hours that day, we still had three hours to go. Kali couldn't feel her extremities and my iPod had died eight hours earlier. All Joe could think about was scotch and Tim didn't get a chance to ride the whole day.

YAY

Family to the rescue, again. Once I was back on the grid that morning (Wednesday) I texted my aunt Ann to let her know we were going to arrive in Marin a couple days ahead of time. She and uncle Reese were as accommodating as on the way down and had hot soup waiting on the stove for us. We slept heavily. I was happy to have extra time in the area because I hadn't been able to see any friends on the way down. Joe wanted to make sure to have some quiet time before his return to work this week so he planned to ride back solo, a day ahead of me and Tim. He and Kali had Thursday to themselves, which allowed me to drag Tim around my old stomping grounds. Everything is better with a car and a cup of Blue Bottle iced coffee. Tim decided to go to a movie in Alameda while I hung out with my former host parents, Pete and Molly. They were in a deep depression for a couple years after I left their basement so in January they had a scrumptious fat-cheeked little chub bucket named Marcel. They were a lot more alert than most new parents. I assume that had something to do with Molly getting maternity leave, and something else to do with them only being three months into it. He's the chillest little dude though, too. He was asleep when I got there and asleep when I left, and squishy and friendly in between. He'll fit right in up here in Seattle when Pete and Molly move back up here.

Because everything is tiring now, we were tired again that night. I was even too tired to hot tub, which turned out to be lucky because if I hadn't gone into the bedroom when I did I would never have heard Tim rapping Wu-Tang lyrics at full volume in his sleep. Sleep tight, and protect ya neck.

AND THEN THERE WERE THREE... KIND OF

Joe left for the coast early Friday morning, so I guess this is his poorly thought-out and unceremonious disappearance from the blog........... Sorry about that, Joe! Good times! Gotta keep it moving though! The remaining three of us set out that morning for a day in Berkeley. We started with another iced coffee stop at Blue Bottle, then got Kali some books for her time in Nicaragua before hitting Cheese Board for pizza for lunch. Those were some tangible Berkeley staples, but it wouldn't have been a proper day in Berkeley without Kali's friend Rosie. Rosie hasn't been in Berkeley that long, but she's made for that place. She's a sock in the face with a fistful of positivity. She's also apparently never ordered anything at a cafe before. The second stop on our coffee tour was at Philz, a way-too-trendy pour-over coffee place that, like other coffee places, sells coffee. After a minute or two of Rosie trying to get any information at all about the one type of green tea they offered, she asked "wait is this a coffee place?" I confirmed, and Rosie said "okay I'll order some coffee." The barista returned without any additional info on the tea, but Rosie was ready to acquiesce: "Do you have green tea coffee?" .... wha.... what? No! Of course not. That's not a thing. "Okay I'll have a hot chocolate."     !!!!!!!     At least after that it was no additional stretch to try to order some version of a latte for Kali, which was fired up snarkily with "one large Tesora... LIKE a latte..." Philz is so bougie they don't have cream and sugar out. They ask you how much you like, pour it for you, then make you taste it to see if you need more. Those are the kinds of insulting gimmicks that will easily make me hate a place, but god damn if that wasn't the best hot coffee I've ever had. The whole day was magical. We hiked, we chilled in a fort in the forest, we made flower crowns, and we got a little muddy. And to top it all off, I finally saw my man Tommy again. Tim and I were leaving early the next morning so we didn't get to have any real fun, but I was going to flip shit if I didn't get to see him and we ate some good Thai food, so all shit remains unflipped, for now.

ADIOS KALI, HOLA REALITY

That night was also our sad goodbye with Kali, the star of the trip. Thank you for making this trip happen, for letting us all be a part of it, and for holding it all together. Tim and I had a short ride the next day but took our time, reaching Mt. Shasta around 4pm. We stayed in the log house of our family friends, Ron and Lisa. They spoiled us rotten like the rest of the hosts we had on the trip. We had a lot of catching up to do. I learned a thing or two about my mother's younger days that I appreciated, too. Ron and Lisa treated us to dinner and drinks, and their daughter Margot treated us all to a ride home afterward. What a responsible young lady. Our plan the next day was to stay in Oregon somewhere, but frankly, we were done. Tim and I put in the longest ride of our trip at about 530 miles and smashed all the way home to Seattle on Sunday. The last two days have been great. I'm still delirious, but I sure am relaxed.

I'm lucky to have a week off before going back to work and I desperately need it. The trip was a lot of things. Fun was involved, but it was no vacation. It was a constant challenge for many reasons, but I like a good challenge. It's hard to imagine doing that trip with anyone else I know and I don't regret any of it. It was an adventure, and adventures are by their nature totally fucked up. My friends and I just rode to Mexico and back on motorcycles. My friends and I rode to Mexico and back on motorcycles, and I'm excited for what it will have done to us someday.

Thanks for reading, and for riding with us. Hasta luego.

Love,

The Dirty Riders