I ‘d left Las Vegas behind and was on I-15 headin’ towards California. I’d been stationed in San Diego and also at Mare Island in the early ‘70s. Both were interesting, but both were also “city”, and I just wasn’t much on cities and all the people. So while I was headin’ toward civilization, I at least had some desert to cross first.

It was hot, dry, and downright uncomfortable for both me and the bike. If I’d get onto the gas too hard, the ol’ Shovel would start pingin’ like an aluminum can in a blast furnace. Nothing I could do right away, so I just took it easy. I figured at the first place I could stop and get some plugs, I’d try a set of ‘em in the next cooler range, and retard my timing just a bit.

Just over into California I pulled over into some sorta check point for a break and to get some water. Too bad the water was out of a spigot, and was more than just lukewarm. Tasted like drinking recycled spit, without the pleasure of getting it from some gal via a long kiss. But it was water and I was pretty dry, so I chugged it down.

Bad mistake, drinking as much as I thought I needed. ‘Bout the time I got filled up my belly started complainin’. Couple minutes of it gripin’ and I was on my knees pukin’ up all that fine warm spit, with a couple of toenails thrown in for good measure. Made me really appreciate the human race as not one person asked if I was OK, or even more’n glanced my way. Scooter trash ….

When I was done givin’ the state back its water, I sat in the shade of the building for a spell, tryin’ to feel a little like a real person. I finally got back on the bike, and back out on the slab. I stopped in Baker, got some water that came out of a real-live ice cooler, and finally felt normal (for me, anyway!). I got some cooler plugs, slapped ‘em in, but left the timing alone. Bike seemed to run better, but it was getting into the evening and the temperatures were cooling off some. Guess I’d find out tomorrow when it heated back up.

I left Bake and immediately started feeling hungry. It was about 60 miles to Barstow, and I figured that’d be a good place to stop, eat, and then find a spot to toss the bag for the night. I wasn’t making very good time, mostly ‘cause I had to take it easy, and having puked my innards up, and then rest for several hours. I decided to dip into my war bag for some cash and treat myself to a store-bought meal. Found a small Mexican joint, and loaded up on a bag of tacos, a little jar of nuclear sauce, a couple of beers, and fresh water in my canteens. Man, I was in heaven!

I finished the tacos, and headed outta town on a small road, looking’ for a spot to sleep. I think I was going out towards the Mohave Naval Range, but ain’t real positive about that. Anyway, I wasn’t seeing much of anything that cried out, “Sleep here!”, so I just rode off the road into the sand, went behind a clump of rocks and bushes, tossed the bag down, and slept hard. I woke up around 0400, colder than something’ a witch stuffs in a brass bra. Gotta love the desert, but it surely does help to be prepared!

I had a couple of soggy tacos left from supper, and washed them down with some water, wiped the crud outta my eyes and ears, and found my way back to I-15. The road cuts more south someway outta Barstow, and I knew I was getting close to way more people than I really wanted to deal with. Nothin’ to do about it, as the girl I was going to see was that way.

At least it started greening up some, and I came through Cajon Pass, and down into San Bernadino. Traffic was picking up, but thinned out as I got onto I-10 and headed back east through Riverside. My destination was Palm Springs where Deb and her husband lived. I knew her from Idaho, but hadn’t met him. He was a Marine, stationed at Twentynine Palms, and they’d gotten hitched when they were both in Okinawa. I was r

 

Skip, thanks for sharing the adventure.

Ever consider sending the story to a magazine? I thought it was well written and made for some good reading.

 

Thanks for sharing. I enjoyed all the chapters of your story. If I could just figure out how to get time off work to do the same.............

 

LOL, helps to be single, no girl friend, no home, no car, and no cares! I owned 2 bikes, a passle of guns, and a passle of tools. Extra bike, extra guns, extra tools were at my Dad's. Had exactly zero bills, and lived from April thru the next January on about $2500. Spent it on gas, oil, a couple camp grounds, a motel or two, a little beer (OK, a lotta beer), a little smoke, and a little food.

 

Thanks, but it seems magazines want short tales, when they do any at all. Too much work, and the results generally suck, when ya gotta cut things down. I always figured story-tellin' oughtta roll smooth, and magazines just don't often do that. Mostly any of my stuff is written for a couple reasons - for me to enjoy the memories, and for my kids. Reckon they oughtta know their Pop wasn't always a fat ol' geezer sot in his ways!

 

the problem here is you weren't "standin on a corner"

 

Skip,

Great story and well written, I enjoyed the ride. Hoping one day to take a long vacation from work and hit the road with no real destination. Thanks for putting it out there for us.