Life & Island Times: Detour Day 22

May 2001

All Of Sudden In St Louis
During my two wheeled road trips, I never felt nerves or sensed or heard premonitions. Steve and I had slept well and deeply for many of the preceding nights. Twenty-two years later I still marvel at the insanity of having our entire future or better said any further future determined in an instant.
-Marlow February 2023

We awoke to dry pavement but faced thick fog which put us on edge at the beginning of a very long day of superslab riding. Fog proved less daunting as our 70+ MPH advance outran it less than an hour south of Kansas City.

I-70 in Kansas City: the worst road surfaces this side of the old Soviet Union — uneven, potholed, rutted; plainly hazardous to unwarned motorcycle riders and harmful to commuter cars. Six-inch-wide ribbons of failing patch asphalt along concrete slab joints 2-3” tall across the entire width of the road. On the two-laner US routes in the mountains, they’d post warning signs, but not here. Disgraceful. “Paging Senator Bond, white courtesy phone.”

We ran hard all day, not eating until we were well east of St. Louis in Illinois. We were racing an eastward bound high-speed major three front stitching point that chased us all day long — a cold front to our north, oriented East-West was moving southward as another low-pressure center was moving eastward along this frontal boundary from the west. A third occluded front tail waged softly to our south southwest. We watched the northern front silently march towards us on I-70 and I-64, while ominous black clouds always filled our rear-view mirrors despite our 80+ MPH velocities. We just made it to our day’s Lexington Kentucky destination when the storm systems finally collapsed along the entire length of I-64 corridor from St Louis Missouri to Charleston West Virginia, bringing tropical storm force winds and heavy rain. Chalk one up for accurate computerized forecasts.

I quickly shoved the disposable camera into my left leather jacket pocket, after taking some photos of the St Louis arch from my fast-moving Harley. During the past three weeks, I’d become proficient doing this while riding. I’d only dropped these cheap cameras a few times with no physical damage or poor photo quality resulting. As you can see, our eastbound traffic was light on a partly sunny St Louis getaway midafternoon.

From out of nowhere but probably from our far right swerved into the front of our fast lane a red pickup with a white sign with black letters “______Dirty Piles.” I thought to myself, well, what’s gonna happen now? Time sped up as my perception of its passage caused me to prepare and then roll a bit off the throttle.

Traffic instantly became tightly packed around us as the pickup driver tapped his brakes. “Oh, shit.” I grumbled — the guy swoops our fast-passing lane and then slams his brakes. WTFO?

The truck driver then begins fighting hard to keep the truck in his our lane as it jerked side to side as Steve and I clamped down on our machines’ disc brakes. My visual focus narrowed down to a small cone in front and beside me as I shifted hard down to bleed off more velocity. A J.B. Hunt tractor trailer now loomed in damn close on my right. The big rig’s driver was already hard on his brakes and downshifting with his engine’s pop off valves sounding like a 4th of July fireworks display.

Then I heard chattering noises which meant his rig’s brake lock was imminent. I wished for once for the protection of blissful ignorance but nooooo . . . . in such tight quarters we’d be at the hinge point of the resulting jack knife maneuver. The driver was a pro as he shifted his efforts to more engine breaking and red line over whining ostensibly to protect him and us. Our rider pucker factors were well into the red zone.

All of a sudden, the view to my front and right briefly cleared. I now saw a 120-pound red-brown chow, frozen in fear and disorientation astride the semi’s lane, looking squarely at me (I began to rise on my pegs). I hit my klaxon and it froze for a moment. A brown car’s front quarter panel and passenger side front wheel now appeared by my left leg an inch or two under my left handlebar. My right handlebar was several inches away from the big rig’s trailer frame. I pulled up my front floorboards and thanked the gods I had stowed my pax pegs upright every day. My fingers and arms were otherwise now occupied death-gripping, braking, down-shifting, clutching and horn honking.

The lane sharing car to my left slowly eased on by as we were still doing ~45 MPH. He had no room to maneuver as a Jersey barrier limited his berm space to 2-3 feet. I concentrated on me and my bike becoming skinnier in our lane’s right wheel rut.

WHACK! The collision sounded like a baseball bat hitting an aluminum garage door. Relief. Instant relief. Sadness. Still breathing and upright and rolling. Northing broken. Hot Damn!

After traffic unexpectedly became looser a split second later, I drew even with the brown car again I offered its pax a hand sign to thank his driver for his skillful avoidance driving. Holy Shit he took it and bumped it. He was as shocked as I was at what was transpiring while shouting, “Yeah! Oh Yeah!!”

Observation #14: Could’ve, would’ve, should’ve died several times during those brief 5-6 seconds. I doo-loop processed these events, their meanings, their suddenness, their enduring ever present immediacy, our joint artful ballet like survival actions and their relationship to the road-trip for years and years.

Steve later reported observing the semi driver light up a cigarette, probably to calm his nerves. Steve gave him a thumbs up.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: rained out

Query count as of the end of Day 22:

Where’re you going? – 24
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 9
Damsels in distress? – 9 (11 if you count Steve and Marlow)

Select Photos From Day 22

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour, Day 21

Editor’s Note: A stern lecture to the independent contracting force entrusted with editorial duties this morning included a stern admonition and reminder that the number “21” comes immediately after “20.” We hope it works.

– Vic

At our lunch stop diner, Skids, in Cimarron Kansas, we met a self-described motorcycle fiend. Retired (in 1980) 20+year Topeka patrol cop, who’d ridden motorcycles since he was 13. At various times since the 1940s, he ridden an in-line 4-cyclinder Henderson, a 1949 Hydraglide, a 1937 Knucklehead, and had owned a 1980 Kawasaki 1000 capable of 130+ MPH. We could see and hear in him the continued presence of a strong strain of motorcycle rider lust.

We got to Skids just in time at high noon. By 1215 the place’s picnic style tables were teeming with local laborers, farm workers, and elderly retired folk. Skids pork tenderloin sandwiches and rough cut local fries were Yum Yum.

Observation #14: Scenic road designations along the Kansas sections of US-50 and US-56 ought to be revoked as cruel and deceptive. Oxymorons. On a uniformly flat portion of US-56, a scenic overlook sign proudly directed us to a very minor rise in the landscape from which we could enjoy a vista consisting of a huge, well laid out cattle feed lot that extended a mile in both directions parallel to US-56. Its scenic value was lost on us city boys. Perhaps it was the perfumed scent in the air? An IBP slaughterhouse and meat packing plant lay just over the horizon to the west. It was surrounded by those huge circular agricultural sprinkler contraptions whose efforts were rewarded with vigorous green growth in each watered orb.

Watched a single-engine crop dusting airplane pilot doing his thing to a farmer’s fields along US 50 flying right up to the edge of the field & US 50 at 30 feet altitude before “yanking and banking” right-turn-Clyde to continue spraying in the opposite direction. An excellentdisplay of airmanship.

Encountered intermittent showers after lunch. Once we hit I-35 northbound in Emporia, the skies turned mean really fast – thunderstorm lines along the interstate repeatedly hammered us. Later reported rates of rain on TWC were in the 3” per hour region. From our handlebar viewpoint, our forward visibility was about 100 feet, with Steve in the lead disappearing 3-4 seconds when tsunami’d by a semi-tractor trailer rig’s road water wash. Our narrow 40-50 foot split did not stop the car driving morons from abruptly splitting us. After 20 or so miles of this, we gave up our get-home-itis death wish and stopped in BETO Kansas for the night. Or at least a meal and drying out break.

At the junction of I-35 and US-75 these roads connect Burlington, Emporia, Topeka, and Ottawa. Its attractions included a sit-down diner serving cheap, locally sourced foods, a motel, and convenience store. It was good enough to attract a sizeable local family trade.

As the rain rate crested we decided to stay the night and make up the day’s 80 mile shortfall with an earlier start.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: rained out

Query count as of the end of Day 21:

Where’re you going? – 23
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 9
Damsels in distress? – 9


BETO

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocota.com

Life & Island Times: Detour, Day 20

Almost ran over a guy as he foolishly tried to mosey across US-50. L-to-R in front of us, all the way, never once tired to trot, let alone run out of danger. Only hard evasive repeated actions by us saved him from having his shorts browned or his head turned bright red after being launched 300 feet airborne down the road and into the desert. DMF!

Saw a rainbow outside Lamar Colorado.

Waved at a BNSF freight train running the rails along US-50; got a woo woo in response. 🙂

At Guniston gas stop, got a side trip recommendation from a Boulder Colorado, optical engineer, dirt bike rider (Craig): CO-69 along the Sangre de Christo mountain range and CO10 – a straight, level, and empty stretch of go-fast road. 69 was gorgeous. 10 allowed us to outrun big ugly, thunder bumper clouds and speed check our bike’s warp drives.

Stayed at Mr. Kim’s Travelodge in Lamar. He has three older kids. All in college/grad school on partial/full rides; two at prestigious universities. Wife and youngest daughter live in Seattle. He sees them infrequently as the “schools and neighborhoods are better there.” Now and then he drives the long weekend round trip to see them. Recently bought this “East Jesus” motel to make his fortune. He found small town America clannish, lazy, hostile, and bigoted towards his dreams.

Inadvertently discovered that he slept behind the motel’s check-in counter on the floor as I awoke him in a start when I quietly entered the lobby to write today’s journal musings. Mr. Kim is one of several immigrants we met on this trip who’ve been charmed so much by small town real estate values as to cause them to risk their life’s savings and sanity seeking their fortunes there. Despite widespread and often cruel opposition they face, these newest Americans persevere. Love ‘em one and all as examples of what makes this place grand.

Dined at a small Szechwan restaurant owned and manned entirely by recent mainland Mandarin-only-speaking Chinese immigrant wait staff. Large Hot-Sour soup appetizer should be retitled Extended-Family size.

Our wait captain came to Lamar from Atlanta, when his Lamar friend called to ask for his help. Seemed that Lamar’s local workers wouldn’t work slave as hard as was needed. The restaurant seemed successful with a huge takeout and delivery business in evidence.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: yellow

Query count as of the end of Day 20:

Where’re you going? – 22
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 8
Damsels in distress? – 9

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour, Day 18

Editor’s Note: Building Management at Big Ink ran a test of complete Condo Association conversion to Renewable power sources. The initial test, scheduled for dawn on a cloudy day introduced unplanned variation in composition management and iteration control. The mis-ordering of episodes is the regrettable full responsibility of the independent editorial contractors with a distant, formal manner, for which Socotra House LLC is not directly liable.

– Vic


This slogan to generate tourist traffic to America’s forgotten portion of US 50 was inoperative as we had the road entirely to ourselves all day. Very empty and very green. Very straight in between seven mountain ridge/range lines it crosses. Very Zen. Part of the original Pony Express route that operated for19 months in 1861 and 1862. Riders had to be expert, 18, small and wiry, capable of 90 miles per day, and willing to risk death. Pay: $25/week. This BETAMAX-level, single packet switching communications technology of its day was quickly outmoded by the telegraph and cross-country US Postal Service by train. Oops. Only one pony rider was reported to have died. Yeah, sure. We climbed around a surviving PE ride station located about thirty miles west of Ely Nevada.

The Surprise

Stopped at the second of two 2-hose, single pump, gravel lot, gas stations in Austin. We were midway along Nevada’s portion of US 50. If asked, I’d locate it by telling folks that we’re equidistant from the towns of No Way, Never, and No More. This gas-only station was run by a solitary, 50ish woman, married to a county road repair crew member.

I had finished paying for my fuel and was skylarking outside while Steve paid and talked. I saw two young adults plus a small toddler doing a Pythonesque style rendition of creeping along the station building’s concrete block face enroute the front door. The not-so-steady young’un was in the lead with Mom holding her bitty’s mitts above her head to steady her on the gravel. In response to a single whispered question, they confirmed suspicions and I fell in line to assist. I took the little girl’s hands above her head and shielded her from her target’s sight lines and entered the station.

My plans and script changed quickly as the toddler assumed the conn upon spotting full shelves of candy bars and snacks just inside the door in front of her grandma’s register station. Improvising, I asked the cashier whether she had troubles with small creatures eating her assorted treats. Puzzled, she came out from behind the counter and instantly melted when she saw her first grandchild, all the way from western Colorado, walking for the first time. At the exact same time, the surprise package’s parents leapt into the room, shouting Surprise! Happy Mother’s Day!”

Steve and I discretely skedaddled.

Good eats at Austin’s Toiyabe Café.

Observation #12: Why is it in the far west that most of the road side signs have been shot up? I understand blasting away at the bossy ones (Slow Down, Speed Up) and those that have animal silhouettes. But I no comprende route number signs and plain info signs being targeted with not just small arms calibers like 22 and 38 but 357, 45, 30/30 and 50 cal machine gin fire. I saw one yellow sign with almost all of its paint stripped off by repeated shotgun blasts. BTW the “left turn arrowed” ones all had been blasted into outer space.

Observation #13: Dogs on the beds of these far western state owner’s pickup trucks and men on their motorcycles have the common singular goal — faces squarely in the wind with noses sniffing.

Stayed in Ely Nevada’s El Rancho Motel. Cost: $31/night. Motel name may be shy a letter U.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: yellow

Query count as of the end of Day 18:

Where’re you going? – 20
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 8
Damsels in distress? – 8

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour Day 19

May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 19

“Utah has Arizona’s scenery but a better color consultant.”
-Marlow to Steve after driving through Utah

Grand Junction Colorado and the last of Steve’s friends are our city stops.

Stopped for brunch in Delta Utah at the Topps Café. First meal of the trip where the sole coffee creamer option was a petroleum product powder packet. Cook had trouble with delivering stuff at same time. Food was good nonetheless. San Fran gay couple traveling with B&W longhair cat who ate a plate of breakfast eggs. We departed first. As their car caught up and passed us later on I-15, they waved at Steve.

Upon entering Utah, we went on a 20-25 mile long down-slope ride through sheer rock sluices cut for US-50. Damn impressive road construction job and great ride. Throughout Utah, we saw myriad rock formation shapes echoing creatures and machines in SCI FI and fantasy movies we’ve screened during the past forty years.

Almost got run over by a UHaul truck as it veered well left of center. Distracted woman driver let the truck drift. We were less than two beats from a self-initiated emergency pavement departure in search of safer spaces in the roadside flora and fauna. As it was, we were stagger riding the far-right side of our side’s single lane, when she heard or blaring horns, looked up, and jerked her truck hard right.

Observation #14: Passed by a slowly moving pickup truck with a small, “Heinz 57-Variety” breed, dog in the bed in Western Utah. For the first time in my memory, I saw a dog definitely not enjoying his nose-in-the-air time. His neck lay on the truck’s bedside wall. His eyes stared almost mournfully down at the passing pavement. This image has stuck in my mind ever since. Hang dog sad.

Arrived Grand Junction at 430 PM, so the local motorcycle shops could do both bikes’ oil and filter changes. Bikes were spotless after a free power washing. My experienced HD mech and I jabbered about his 2-wheeled trip to the Arctic Circle four years ago. It’s a do-able do.

Stayed at the Mesa Inn for $40. Dined at Boot’s recommended place – Dolce Vita in downtown GJ. It was big city downtown good without the swank.

We met and chatted up one of Steve’s old St Regis College roommates. Seemed very surprised we knew and ate at Dolce Vita.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: no players

Query count as of the end of Day 19:

Where’re you going? – 21
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 8
Damsels in distress? – 9


Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour Day 17

May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 17

Go east, young man, go east.
-roadtrip guidance from those back in Virginia


We left San Jose after light breakfast and headed for Nevada, crossing the Sierras via CA88. In the Stockton area, we passed through a series of ridges covered with monstrously large windmill driven electrical generators. Impressive but not big power contributors. A mid-sized nuke reactor would better address the CA power generation shortfall. This is the Peoples Republic of CA, now footing the bill for the past 25 years of unfettered scientism — crackpot ecological, anti-business, anti-nuclear piffle covered by a thin veneer of scientific sounding justifications which supported unsound public policies. Indeed, “paybacks are a mother!”

Saw huge Redwoods as we traversed the Sierra Nevadas (Carson Pass at 8594 feet).

Ate lunch at a 1950’s era diner — Mel’s – in Jackson CA. Met the local preacher who had about six little auburn-haired girls in tow all decked out in the Sunday-go-to-church Mother’s Day finest.

Redheads. Redwoods. Redheads. Redwoods.

Just missed hooking up with an Alexandria neighbor’s daughter in Reno (small world, eh?). We headed to Carson City. Stayed at a Travel Lodge (Steve’s pick). Dined at a casino. Cheap but good prime rib.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: black

Query count as of the end of Day 17:

Where’re you going? – 19
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 8
Damsels in distress? – 7

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour, Day 16

Editor’s Note: Land warfare in Europe is in progress. There is a Chinese proposal to talk about peace on the table unacceptable to two of the participants. In response to tension, our Navy has eliminated fitness standards. The ground in Ukraine is thawing, making movement a challenge for the next few weeks. The crisis grinds on.

– Vic

May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 16

Departed Monterey – ☹
More Senas – 😊
Steve’s final 50th birthday 3-alarm fire – 🔥

Met another cousin, Tom McFall, and the final Sena sibling, Pat, in San Jose.

Pat threw Steve’s final b-day festival celebration with all the house’s fire alarms going off in unison. Acted like kids that we are — hung spoons.

In response to an open-ended request from Pat to talk about his older brother, Tent Stake, I told a few stories. Many were seemingly first heards. Pat had a different view of his brother. Have seen the same thing with my younger siblings who think I, as the oldest, was adopted or part of an alien invasion advance force.

Pat had an out of commission GoldWing he was wrenching on to get road ready again. He rode a great deal in the ’80s and ’90s to include several cross-country trips. Tom just bought a cream puff ‘91 GoldWing with< 20K miles. Perhaps we’ll ride with them out west or back our way somewhere in the years to come.

Spent the night at Tom’s in San Jose.

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: none

Query count as of the end of Day 16:

Where’re you going? – 17
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 7
Damsels in distress? – 7

Select Photo From Day 16

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour, Day 15

May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 15

To each, his own.

Steve wanted another southern slice of the PCH, while I wanted to revisit some old haunts on the peninsula and the new to me Monterey Aquarium.

The aquarium’s 35 foot tall, swaying kelp beds were entrancing. The geriatric otters (>14 years old) in residence were still hilariously entertaining.

We took runny cheese, a French baguette, champagne, and red wine to a a not-so-sunny sunset for a darkening feasting as the fast-moving overcast was thick and quieting. Very peaceful. We tried to find a dry rock path to a large offshore rock outcropping to spy on the otters, but incoming tides thwarted us.

Dinner was at an old local’s favorite Italian place in Pacific Grove. In addition to the super food was the special, funky verbal garnish thrown our way by our 70s Big Sur area born/raised male waiter and the restaurant’s transvestite owner upon their spying my Chippendale-looking motorcycling partner Steve and their learning that I was headed back to live in Key West once again. What a blast from the past, present and future.

Day 15 miscellany and counts:

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: none

Query count as of the end of Day 15:

Where’re you going? – 16
What’s that: (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 7
Damsels in distress? – 7

Observation #10 & #11: all the cars on the peninsula were foreign and very clean. They all seemed to have been detailed recently. Dinner side salads on the peninsula started at ~$9. The salad industry appears to be doing quite well with the term “salad days’” meaning in full morph mode.

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsoctra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour Day 14


May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 14

Point Lobos

A leisurely breakfast followed by a visit to base housing to look at the late 1970s townhome residence I had when I studied here for my graduate degree and wrote a thesis on the Arpanet.

Point Lobos was the sole item on the agenda. No words can capture it. Photos only do it small justice. Found the small secret beach my little girls loved way back when — China Beach. A special place.

Late lunch at Carmel’s Hogs Breath. Smoked a cigar as we window shopped.

Enroute Steve’s fancy 50th birthday party in a Carmel eatery, we drove along Pacific Grove’s Ocean View Blvd and Pebble Beach’s Sunset Blvd at sunset. Mellow.

Day 14 miscellany and counts:

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: yellow

Query count as of the end of Day 14:

Where’re you going? – 15
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 6
Damsels in distress? – 6

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com

Life & Island Times: Detour, Day 13

May 2001
Detour Version 1.0

Day 13

“G*# D+^ M^%#er#<-*ing SOB!!”
-Evelyn at Salinas Harley Davidson

We were going to the Salinas Harley dealer to get a new battery after Steve rope-towed me and my two cylindered arrow to life and headed east to the San Fernando Valley. Just like he did after dinner last night on the Wharf.

While in Salinas, two things happened:

Evelyn and the Shovelhead

Evelyn ran a tight ship in the Salinas HD repair shop. The younger mechanics unquestionably obeyed her while the 50+ year old, bearded ones worked together with her as equals. In her late 40s, she wore wire frame glasses and lots of classic HD jewelry in various body piercings; no visible tattoos; 5’6”; well-proportioned, wearing bib overhaul blue jeans that accentuated her finer points.

The shop had been working on a local customer’s 78 Shovelhead powered, blacked-out touring bike that had been under their care for three long weeks. A top end job and a lot of electrical work was already long since completed and billed. Still, the 23-year-old Shovel was not quite right.


I witnessed the day’s first test start, since they wanted to see if this morning’s latest adjustments had cured the Shovel’s ills. It answered the test with a set of arhythmic, shotgun blast-accompanied backfires. To which Lady E replied with a string of well structured, hyphenated obscenities.

I whispered to her that the bike seemed to be like an invited dinner guest who had overstayed his welcome or an adult child who returned to bunk with his parents after they had sold the family home, moved cross country and got an unlisted phone number.

She thought for a moment and then cooly responded, “Maybe, I should put that son of a bitch up for adoption?”

“What a flirt!” I thought.

Rey #2

After paying in advance for my replacement battery to be delivered later that AM, we departed the dealership for the day’s first ration of $2.50/gallon California Super Premium Grade gasoline. Having finished my refill first, a man ambled back and forth our way while I was daydreaming astride the Fatboy. As Steve moved from gassing up to tire pressure checking, our ambler began talking aimlessly to no one in particular about our machines. Since I made inadvertent eye contact with him, he corrected course towards me and began his patter that required no response from me — he was “on a roll.”

5’8”; mid/late 40s; very tan; small toad stool shaped growths on his neck which were dark shiny red; extraordinarily bad teeth as two groups of uppers had formed loose triangles to the outside of each of his eye teeth while missing both of his front uppers; worn but clean sneakers displaying split end shoelace bouquets; sporting an 80s Black Metallica tour sweatshirt and a gimme ballcap from a local agribusiness equipment merchant.

He said he was on a run for his girlfriend (she was buying, so he was flying). As proof he showed me a crisp brown paper bag containing a still chilled, screw topped bottle of the liquor store’s Malt of the Day special. He explained without missing a beat that he had what they called in Salinas “runner’s rights” – the privilege of the first swig in his instance the day’s newly bought, eye opener. He detailed his life for me hanging out with a bunch of guys on a nearby wall in a city park playing dominoes. The city had recently removed their playing table from the park. He, in a spark of inspiration, had fixed that by finding a piece of plywood which when placed on a park trash bin worked just fine.

Eventually, we went through the below Q&A’s five times until his short term memory flickered on:

He: What’s your name?
Me: Marlow.
He: Uh, what’s your name?
Me: Marlow.

Upon successfully repeating my name back to me, he introduced himself.

“I’m Rey., They call me Rey #2, since there’s so many of us. I think t there’s six of us. Only trouble is that most of them are in jail, detox, away, or . . . . .”

I responded while extending my right hand, “Well, Rey #2, I’m glad to meet you, but maybe you could drop the #2, since you’re normally the only one who’s around. How’s about calling yourself ‘Free Rey’ or ‘Rey B Free’? Both sound pretty cool, don’t they?”

After for Rey what was a very short moment to mull it over, he slowly stood erect and slyly grinned. “I like that. Rey B Free. Rey B Free.”

After pausing, he continued to repeat his new moniker, all the while never shifting his package to take my offered right hand. RBF had priorities.

We parted moments later with Rey B Free toreador-waving Steve and me out of the service station while he still death grip clutched his runner’s rights package.

We ate in Salinas while Evelyn’s boys fixed some other issues with my bike. This place — SANG, now held the roadtrip’s record for largest hash brown plate at well over two pounds. While cleaning my plate, I mumbled a brief prayer for all the motherless little spuds now residing in Idaho.

After lunch, we took a rip through the Carmel Valley Highway — a road with over forty miles of twisties, tree limb covered narrow lanes, good-to-great scenery, and little to no traffic between the PCH and CA route 101. The first ten minutes or so eastward from the PCH is pretty tame, but the rest is superb. We back tracked to supersize our ride.

Checked out of the Navy Lodge to a B&B for a major improvement in accommodations.

Dined at the Old Bath House – best meal, view, and service of the trip. Stellar. No reservations needed. Great wine list. Lamb entrée, Gran Mariner souffle. Flaming after dinner drinks served in a darkened dining room with Monterey Bay sparkling out beyond the picture windows.Afer pausin

Day 13 miscellany and counts:

Daily Windshield Bug Smash Bingo Game winners: yellow

Query count as of the end of Day 13:

Where’re you going? – 15
What’s that? (Steve’s Valkyrie) – 6
Damsels in distress? – 6 (7 or 8 if we count Rey or his girl)

Select Photo From Day 13:

Copyright © 2001 and 2023 From My Aisle Seat
www.vicsocotra.com