Arkansas Lost and Alone Part 4 of 4: The Inevitable
I slept like the dead. I woke up aching, tired, bruised and cut. But it was a brand new day. My mood was satisfied, calm and resolute. That was a hell of an adventure, but I was glad it was over.
BLOG POST #007 - Lost and Alone: The Inevitable
How I learned to ride a motorcycle, speak Spanish and not die. Riding solo in search of adventure from Detroit to Argentina.
Back at my campsite I realized that the riding skills competition was over and now it was time for the strength and endurance test. I hung my small backpack on the front of my body and the large one on my back. I had a few miscellaneous bags of food and my shoulder-sling clipped to my body with carabiners. The two metal pannier boxes have handles, so those would be dead lifted on either side. I reckon it all added up to about 120 pounds of freight.
I lifted the two boxes and shuffled forward to start the long hike down. I did these fifty yards at a time and rested for two minutes. Then forty-two yards at a time and rested for five minutes. Then eventually twenty yards and rested for ten minutes. The distances got shorter, and the rest times got longer, making the whole process stretch on for hours. I had to be careful about water and stay focused on-task. But I didn't really care all that much about the hard work of it, because last night was so much worse when I didn't even know my fate.
Finally, back at the Jesus Tree, I loaded everything back up on the bike. It was still a challenge to ride because of wavy-grass covered ruts I couldn't see, or softball-sized rocks that would toss the front wheel three inches sideways without notice. Several times I had to walk alongside La Barra and clutch-tickle her up a hill, pushing at the same time. But I only dropped the bike one more time, and I thought it was quite funny when it happened.
The track turned into an average dirt road before finally peaking at the top of the hill as I rode up on Don's new house construction site. I got off and whooped a little cry of success. Two workers stopped swinging hammers to come and check me out. I told them my story about riding to Argentina and what I went through last night. Apparently google maps took me to the wrong side of the hill for the start point. They told me those "aren't really roads", the way I came. "No shittte." I said sarcastically.
One of the guys rides his motorcycle every day on his way to work, but then gets picked up down at the main road. He says he wouldn't ride up here, even starting on the right side of the mountain at the "good" roads. It was then that I realized I didn't need to be a more "skilled" rider. No amount of skill would have made coming here a good idea. I needed to be a more "experienced" rider that would know better than to try to get up here on a motorbike in the first place
I had several bad-cell phone-connections, choppy, interrupted, half-conversations with Don. I was trying to do a good once-over to let him know what was going on with the house and keep the builders on track. I hung out there for an hour or so before I headed out. I made the construction guys repeat the directions out thirteen times or so just to make sure I wouldn't get lost again. But it was a straight shot with only a few turns on good surfaces. Twenty minutes later I found myself at the main road. I did not care which main road. I was overheated and covered in streaks of brown dirt-stained dried-up sweat.
I suddenly had a huge craving for ice cream. Under normal circumstances I can only handle so much sugar, and I never really drink soda. But in that harried state I knocked back two cokes and a very large ice cream, my body soaked up the sugars into my cells where all resources had been previously depleted. I headed to the nearest, nicest hotel and had an hour-long shower. I drooled off the end of the pillow at the foot of the bed watching mindless TV, dozing off an hour before the sun even went down.
I slept like the dead. I woke up aching, tired, bruised and cut. But it was a brand new day. My mood was satisfied, calm and resolute. That was a hell of an adventure, but I was glad it was over.
La Barra was 6 pounds lighter from pieces torn off, but none of it was super essential. I asked my son to send me the spare windshield from my basement back at home and I ordered some other parts on Amazon. I shipped everything to my nephew's apartment in Texas, which was one of my next stops.
It's a beautiful sunny day. The road undulates in 3D, rising to the left before twisting and falling away back to the right again. I took this time to focus on my form, taking just the right line of approach. Sometimes this meant hugging the stripe in the middle of the road, or other times rounding out the elbow on the far side of the lane. I imagined a skilled pianist practicing his scales, focused on hitting each note with precise timing, location, and transition to the next movement.
The speed limit alternated between 35 MPH and 50 MPH, changing back and forth almost every mile. There was barely enough speed-up or slowdown time in between. My goal was to stay in my lane, on the road, and at the speed limit the whole time without having to brake hard by misjudging a turn. If I didn't manage the magical combination of speed, balance and steering, then I would have to slow down almost to a stop. I was not on a clock. I was not trying to make time.
My knees grip the hard metal fuel tank that amplified the vibration of the engine RPM throughout my whole body. My chin pushes forward and eyes bulge like a Springer Spaniel on the hunt, watching to see where a duck will land in the water. I balance with my chest horizontal to the ground, alternating right elbow dipped towards the gravel shoulder, then back towards my left leaning in on the centerline. It is enchanting and meditative as I fine tune each turn like a Japanese warrior drawing a stone across his sword, sharpening it with each stroke. I was enjoying it immensely, honing my skill as a rider and becoming at one with La Barra.
It couldn't have been a more lovely joyride of Disney World mini-roller coaster pleasantry.
Then everything stopped.
I had been riding a little more casually, enjoying the scenery when I looked up ahead at the curve in the road and instantly knew what was about to happen.
I was going to crash.
It wasn't one of those instances where everything slows down and you see it all move in slow motion. No. Time stopped. The world went quiet. It was just me and my thoughts inside my own head.
I was disappointed.
I was not going to be able to stay on the bike and there was no way around it.
I was impressed at how hard and unforgiving it is to ride a motorbike. It is as dangerous as people say.
I was unafraid, only because there wasn't really any time to panic and that would not help me anyway.
As if my finger was poised above the VCR "play" button in that fleeting instant before the video tape bursts back into action, I sigh to myself in defiance "bring it". But there is dark comedy in this, given that this wipeout is coming whether I give it my permission or not.
It was not going to be a funny fender-bender or slow speed drop. This time, at high speed, there was no escaping it.
This crash was going to break things.
NEXT POST COMING SOON: September 11, 2024
