'The son of a bitch was size of a train!'
Hang on a second. Lemme back up folks.
How my first REAL tour got hatched.
Lets say a 'friend' nonchalantly exchanging e-mails with me for a couple years... I was checking my e-mail in a shot up motel in God knows where after a long day of poking holes in the ground. The jist of the message was:
I wish you were here Ray.
Love, Alice.
I sat there, a stick of vitamin C smoldering between my fingers, covered in grease. Wondering. What. What it was that I was reading on my screen.
I rubbed my eyes. Wait. Do what?
My response was something along the lines of:
Gimme two weeks darlin'.
I don't think she believed it. Shit. I didn't believe it. Theres no way. Over 2600 miles one way. I couldn't fly outside the nation, not with my record. Travel by land was the only shot & it was sketchy. At best.
But ya know what they say. Even the sun shines on a dog's ass once in awhile.
Best part. Bonnie was in pieces.
I returned to Great Bend. Already a couple days down. I went to Rock's with a rack of Coors (his favorite beer) what was left of Bonnie packed in the back of the Blazer & said,
'Dude, I'm going to Nova Scotia in less than two weeks.'
Rock sat his pipe on the bench & took a seat in front of me.
'If anyone else I knew told me they were going to try something so ridiculous, I'd say they're a bold face lair. But...'
'Ain't no bullshit man. but I need your help.'
Before this, other than living down south for awhile, I had barely left my home state.
'Well, we better get busy then hadn't we?'
You learn to swim by jumping in the deep end right?
I thought so. By the way. I can't swim.
In a week we patched body work, painted, ironed on new tires, built a pipe, did the entire harness, lights & numerous other things to prepare Bonnie to cover half a country & then some across three time zones.
Rock's only advice:
'Take a rain suit & don't bring anything back you can't scrub off.'
Got it.
Three days on the road (that's a whole other story) I was sitting in customs (& that's a whole OTHER story) piddling my thumbs as an agent was wading through my criminal history, which, is rather colorful. I was on my way into foreign soil!
I was riding up number one north out of St. Stephen, towards the Trans Canadian Highway when a little red car slowly passed me.
I didn't have a plan for converting kilos to miles but by rough math in my head, I figured 110 was around 68 mph. Problem was, as every street bike I had since Leaky, Bonnie didn't have a speedo & the 13 dollar universal tachometer I zip tied to the bars gave out on me. I had no indication of speed. Funnily enough in four years including coast to coast, I never got a speeding ticket. Not one.
I picked what was a reasonable speed (slower than I was going in the states) & memorized the note of the exhaust at said speed. It got pretty dark after Saint Johns. The cheap ass parts house fog light was casting enough of a beam to see a couple arm lengths in front of me. Plenty right? Well, I wasn't sure what it was at first. All I saw was a huge freakin' leg step out in front of me.
A leg, that's it.
& it was blacker than an ace of spades.
In that second, I applied every bit of braking Bonnie had without tossing myself over the bars. Each scenario is different, whether to limit brake or dodge. A steep ditch on one side & thick trees on the other, scrubbing speed I thought was my best bet until I could further analyze what the sam hell walked out in front of me...
FUCKING BULLWINKLE!
I actually said that. Well, shouted really.
Right up to him he stopped his trot, looked down at me as I decided I could squeeze myself onto the shoulder. I bang few gears down & lock the rear in a brake slide around the brute standing in the road. I swear I could smell it's breath as I whizzed past.
brrRRIPP BRRRIIIPPP BRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPP!
Straightened out & back in top gear I glance over my shoulder to barely see the monstrosity of an animal disappearing into the night behind me. I think I stunned him.
Soon as I merged onto the TCH, I saw a glowing neon gas stop on a hill. I pulled in for my first tank of go juice since I crossed over to our northerly brother's land. I was still a bit shaky. I also managed to put 20 dollars of fuel in Bonnie.
20 DOLLARS. In a bike. Holy shit.
At that point I was glad I rode, literally as far east as you can & still cross into Canada by land. Considering I was now paying over a dollar a liter. Neat thing was, my phone worked just as good as it would in my living room. Over 2000 miles south west of me.
'You never saw a moose before?'
'Shit no I never saw a moose before! The son of a bitch was size of a train!'
'Tehe!'
Her voice was exotic. Eastern Canadian women's accent is alluring, to say the least.
'Are you going to make it here tonight? It's already getting late.'
'How far out am I? I'm in Salisbury, like the steak.'
'Steak?'
'Salisbury freakin' steak! Ya know!'
'No. What's the nearest metro?'
'Metro?'
'Big city, not like a village.'
I guess I wasn't up to snuff on my northern vocabulary...
'Village? Like chickens & teepees & pitchforks?'
'HAHAHA! God no. Village, small town. Metro, big city.'
'I think some joint named Moncton is up the road from me.'
'Okay, maybe 400 kilometers?'
Here we go....
'I'm gonna say that's about 250 miles. I'll need to fuel twice.'
'Find Truro & text me.'
'Okie dokie.'
'Ray.'
'Yeah?'
'I can't believe you're almost here. It's unbelievable.'
...
'I love you.'
Those three words fuckin' scare me. I should know better. I was still trying to figure the whole situation out.
The storm I had been out runnin' fer a few days had finally caught me.
Rain slicker. Duct tape. I think ya'll know how this goes by now.
It was getting cool too. I didn't know what 12 degrees celcius was when I passed a bank clock. But when you're damp on a streetfighter & it's dark... It converts to pretty damn cold in any measurement system.
I reached Truro shivering but in one piece barely able to keep my eyes open. The time change knocked me back another hour, I think it was already past midnight. My phone was going off in my pocket all bizerk like with directions on how to navigate Dartmouth & Halifax to a little third story apartment five blocks off the water. Navigation on a whim in a foreign country can carry many mis-interpretations. I don't know french. Fortunately, not many signs were.
After riding around town for a solid hour, I'd had it. The first person I saw (surprisingly they're weren't many people out, considering the size of the joint) was walking up a path on a grassy park thing nearby what I found out to be, the Citadel later on. And lemme tell ya kids that thing must be important. They really DO NOT appreciate a country boy from Kansas riding a motorcycle & leaving a rut straight up the side of that thing...
I scared the the wits out of that poor girl.
With Bonnie's engine killed I took off my lid & convinced her I wasn't a serial rapist, axe murderer or dope hound from the apocalypse.
'Where's Creighton street ma'am?'
She just held her hand out, pointing behind me, still a little spooked I 'spect.
I had rode right past it.
'Thank ya ma'am!'
I thumbed the go button, banged a gear back down the hill & flew off the curb in the top of second.
WEE!
My phone went off in my pocket, I slid to a stop in the middle of a dimly lit street. There was construction scaffolding clear up the backside of a building to my right.
Received messages:
stop already! I've heard you go by twice now!
'Hmm. Must be getting close. Well I dunno. Bonnie IS pretty damn loud. Maybe I'm a few blocks away?'
I was actually talking to myself as I noticed a door creaking open to my left.
'Ray?'
'Well hot damn.'
She ran up to me, before I could get off Bonnie. Damn near knocked me off my feet. Her embrace was almost strangling. Her hair smelled like the open sky. She was soft, well. The fuzzy jammies were. She kissed me like a jealous lover. She had curves in all the right places.
Conditions were improving.
I was cold, exhausted, slathered in chain wax & smelled like truck stop left overs. Torn rubber ducky suit, ya know.
I got my log chain out, locked Bonnie to a light pole in front & gave her a kiss on the airbox cover. Tasted like mud.
'Good pull girl.'
*tink tink tink*
'Love you too'
She talks to me. She, actually loves me, come to find out.
The shower felt like a tropical waterfall of angel tears. I found a razor & carving off four days of helmet rash, destroyed the razor.
I didn't bother getting dressed afterwards.
I walked through the door.
'Ray, come to me.'
Ya'll have a good one.
Hang on a second. Lemme back up folks.
How my first REAL tour got hatched.
Lets say a 'friend' nonchalantly exchanging e-mails with me for a couple years... I was checking my e-mail in a shot up motel in God knows where after a long day of poking holes in the ground. The jist of the message was:
I wish you were here Ray.
Love, Alice.
I sat there, a stick of vitamin C smoldering between my fingers, covered in grease. Wondering. What. What it was that I was reading on my screen.
I rubbed my eyes. Wait. Do what?
My response was something along the lines of:
Gimme two weeks darlin'.
I don't think she believed it. Shit. I didn't believe it. Theres no way. Over 2600 miles one way. I couldn't fly outside the nation, not with my record. Travel by land was the only shot & it was sketchy. At best.
But ya know what they say. Even the sun shines on a dog's ass once in awhile.
Best part. Bonnie was in pieces.
I returned to Great Bend. Already a couple days down. I went to Rock's with a rack of Coors (his favorite beer) what was left of Bonnie packed in the back of the Blazer & said,
'Dude, I'm going to Nova Scotia in less than two weeks.'
Rock sat his pipe on the bench & took a seat in front of me.
'If anyone else I knew told me they were going to try something so ridiculous, I'd say they're a bold face lair. But...'
'Ain't no bullshit man. but I need your help.'
Before this, other than living down south for awhile, I had barely left my home state.
'Well, we better get busy then hadn't we?'
You learn to swim by jumping in the deep end right?
I thought so. By the way. I can't swim.
In a week we patched body work, painted, ironed on new tires, built a pipe, did the entire harness, lights & numerous other things to prepare Bonnie to cover half a country & then some across three time zones.
Rock's only advice:
'Take a rain suit & don't bring anything back you can't scrub off.'
Got it.
Three days on the road (that's a whole other story) I was sitting in customs (& that's a whole OTHER story) piddling my thumbs as an agent was wading through my criminal history, which, is rather colorful. I was on my way into foreign soil!
I was riding up number one north out of St. Stephen, towards the Trans Canadian Highway when a little red car slowly passed me.
I didn't have a plan for converting kilos to miles but by rough math in my head, I figured 110 was around 68 mph. Problem was, as every street bike I had since Leaky, Bonnie didn't have a speedo & the 13 dollar universal tachometer I zip tied to the bars gave out on me. I had no indication of speed. Funnily enough in four years including coast to coast, I never got a speeding ticket. Not one.
I picked what was a reasonable speed (slower than I was going in the states) & memorized the note of the exhaust at said speed. It got pretty dark after Saint Johns. The cheap ass parts house fog light was casting enough of a beam to see a couple arm lengths in front of me. Plenty right? Well, I wasn't sure what it was at first. All I saw was a huge freakin' leg step out in front of me.
A leg, that's it.
& it was blacker than an ace of spades.
In that second, I applied every bit of braking Bonnie had without tossing myself over the bars. Each scenario is different, whether to limit brake or dodge. A steep ditch on one side & thick trees on the other, scrubbing speed I thought was my best bet until I could further analyze what the sam hell walked out in front of me...
FUCKING BULLWINKLE!
I actually said that. Well, shouted really.
Right up to him he stopped his trot, looked down at me as I decided I could squeeze myself onto the shoulder. I bang few gears down & lock the rear in a brake slide around the brute standing in the road. I swear I could smell it's breath as I whizzed past.
brrRRIPP BRRRIIIPPP BRRRRIIIIIIIIIIIIIPPPP!
Straightened out & back in top gear I glance over my shoulder to barely see the monstrosity of an animal disappearing into the night behind me. I think I stunned him.
Soon as I merged onto the TCH, I saw a glowing neon gas stop on a hill. I pulled in for my first tank of go juice since I crossed over to our northerly brother's land. I was still a bit shaky. I also managed to put 20 dollars of fuel in Bonnie.
20 DOLLARS. In a bike. Holy shit.
At that point I was glad I rode, literally as far east as you can & still cross into Canada by land. Considering I was now paying over a dollar a liter. Neat thing was, my phone worked just as good as it would in my living room. Over 2000 miles south west of me.
'You never saw a moose before?'
'Shit no I never saw a moose before! The son of a bitch was size of a train!'
'Tehe!'
Her voice was exotic. Eastern Canadian women's accent is alluring, to say the least.
'Are you going to make it here tonight? It's already getting late.'
'How far out am I? I'm in Salisbury, like the steak.'
'Steak?'
'Salisbury freakin' steak! Ya know!'
'No. What's the nearest metro?'
'Metro?'
'Big city, not like a village.'
I guess I wasn't up to snuff on my northern vocabulary...
'Village? Like chickens & teepees & pitchforks?'
'HAHAHA! God no. Village, small town. Metro, big city.'
'I think some joint named Moncton is up the road from me.'
'Okay, maybe 400 kilometers?'
Here we go....
'I'm gonna say that's about 250 miles. I'll need to fuel twice.'
'Find Truro & text me.'
'Okie dokie.'
'Ray.'
'Yeah?'
'I can't believe you're almost here. It's unbelievable.'
...
'I love you.'
Those three words fuckin' scare me. I should know better. I was still trying to figure the whole situation out.
The storm I had been out runnin' fer a few days had finally caught me.
Rain slicker. Duct tape. I think ya'll know how this goes by now.
It was getting cool too. I didn't know what 12 degrees celcius was when I passed a bank clock. But when you're damp on a streetfighter & it's dark... It converts to pretty damn cold in any measurement system.
I reached Truro shivering but in one piece barely able to keep my eyes open. The time change knocked me back another hour, I think it was already past midnight. My phone was going off in my pocket all bizerk like with directions on how to navigate Dartmouth & Halifax to a little third story apartment five blocks off the water. Navigation on a whim in a foreign country can carry many mis-interpretations. I don't know french. Fortunately, not many signs were.
After riding around town for a solid hour, I'd had it. The first person I saw (surprisingly they're weren't many people out, considering the size of the joint) was walking up a path on a grassy park thing nearby what I found out to be, the Citadel later on. And lemme tell ya kids that thing must be important. They really DO NOT appreciate a country boy from Kansas riding a motorcycle & leaving a rut straight up the side of that thing...
I scared the the wits out of that poor girl.
With Bonnie's engine killed I took off my lid & convinced her I wasn't a serial rapist, axe murderer or dope hound from the apocalypse.
'Where's Creighton street ma'am?'
She just held her hand out, pointing behind me, still a little spooked I 'spect.
I had rode right past it.
'Thank ya ma'am!'
I thumbed the go button, banged a gear back down the hill & flew off the curb in the top of second.
WEE!
My phone went off in my pocket, I slid to a stop in the middle of a dimly lit street. There was construction scaffolding clear up the backside of a building to my right.
Received messages:
stop already! I've heard you go by twice now!
'Hmm. Must be getting close. Well I dunno. Bonnie IS pretty damn loud. Maybe I'm a few blocks away?'
I was actually talking to myself as I noticed a door creaking open to my left.
'Ray?'
'Well hot damn.'
She ran up to me, before I could get off Bonnie. Damn near knocked me off my feet. Her embrace was almost strangling. Her hair smelled like the open sky. She was soft, well. The fuzzy jammies were. She kissed me like a jealous lover. She had curves in all the right places.
Conditions were improving.
I was cold, exhausted, slathered in chain wax & smelled like truck stop left overs. Torn rubber ducky suit, ya know.
I got my log chain out, locked Bonnie to a light pole in front & gave her a kiss on the airbox cover. Tasted like mud.
'Good pull girl.'
*tink tink tink*
'Love you too'
She talks to me. She, actually loves me, come to find out.
The shower felt like a tropical waterfall of angel tears. I found a razor & carving off four days of helmet rash, destroyed the razor.
I didn't bother getting dressed afterwards.
I walked through the door.
'Ray, come to me.'
Ya'll have a good one.
arroia:
I'm absolutely in love with your stories! You should totally write a book, or at least a collection of short stories.
vassilis:
that was awesome. thanks for the great read