In all the years I've been running around this country on scoots, I've really had very little trouble. Always maintained my bikes and gave 'em a good goin' over before a long trip. The few times I've had some ill luck -- big or small --though, I've been gifted with people who just wanted to help. From that ol' boy out in West Texas who figured out that minor fix on my saddlebag on the last trip to the old Harley mechanic in Vicksburg, Mississippi 40 or more years ago who cobbed together a chain when I was on the road and broke (the bike and my pocketbook) and the damn thing lasted another 20,000 miles. Somehow, it just always works out and reminds me of the basic goodness of people.
This trip did it again.
Pablo rolled into Tehachapi a bit after midnight; Pizan and Char the next morning. We visited for just a bit, then lit 'em up down the mountain and through the Mojave. Just mile after mile of smashing bugs and runnin' 85 - 90 on that big road through the desert. Kinda just ran tank to tank most of the day. Wind, sun and the hum of the tires.
We dropped Pizan and Char off at Needles -- they weren't going to Tombstone, goin' to meet up with everyone in Kingman -- and then it was just Pablo and me.
Pablito's one of my favorite Brothers to run with. Real low key kinda guy who likes to run hard and fast. We ride a lot alike and just plain get along. Real easy. Solid.
We ran 40 till US 95 which cuts down to 10 and Phoenix.
Most desert two lanes are long straights that just disappear right in front of you in the far distance. Not so 95. Lots of curves on the route, some of 'em pretty tight. So it's not surprising that it was on this road that the Geez told me it wanted to feel some love. Needed to feel some love. The whole trip it's felt a little dicey. Sometimes a wobble at low speeds, little mushy in the front, sometimes a bit of float in the huge banked turns on the big roads. Nothin' I could put my finger on. Just figured it was me.
It wasn't.
We were rollin' into a fairly long, tight right hander at, I must confess, somewhere considerably north of 100 MPH, when it decided that it just didn't want to track too straight right then. Front end just started skippin' all over the place. That sort of thing leaves ya' but one option: roll that throttle on and hang on for the ride. Thank goodness for lots of power. Engine pushed it right through and on to the straight. Pablo didn't budge. I looked in the mirror and he was right on my 8 where he always is and saw what might have been a raised eyebrow.
So we just kept rollin' to the 10 and through Phoenix and hit the sack in Casa Grande. Got up early next morning and blew through Tucson till US 80, turned south and ran to Tombstone, to legends and lies and the Brothers. To Jimmy Doherty and one of those small kindnesses we talked about earlier.
But that's for tomorrow.
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