Carpool lane. Clutch in. Shift up. Accelerate. Faster. Curve up ahead. Press right. Lean right. Nice, that felt good. There’s the mountain I’ll be riding up ahead, man it looks awesome. Oh shit! Traffic! Alright Alberto, downshift. Slow down. Stand-still up ahead. Split the lane. Friction zone. Watch for turn signals. Watch for assholes who don’t use their turn signals. Alright, contingency plan – What will you do if a car doesn’t see you and cuts in front of you to switch lanes? Hmmm…I’ll ram my bike into him, do a front flip onto the hood of his car, punch through the windshield and slap him for being an idiot! Does that work? Eh, probably not…Oh hey look! Traffic is letting up. Is this my exit? Chapman. Yea that’s it. Here we go!
After exiting the freeway, I was on the path leading up to Santiago Canyon Road. It was my first time doing this ride so I planned on soaking it all in. Before entering the canyon, I encountered a small crew of bikers – there were three of them. All three were wearing sports gear with GoPro cameras on their helmets and riding crotch rockets. Their high-rev engines sounded both awesome and intimidating. I rolled up next to one of them at a red light. The guy next to me pulled his visor up and asked me if I was going to the canyon. I said yes, and then he introduced himself and we talked – yelled for a bit over the roaring engines. Through his helmet I could see wrinkles on his face; this guy was in his forties at the youngest! All three of them were older. The light turned green and he looked at me and said, “Keep the rubber on the ground.” Then, while I blinked, he was gone. I looked forward to see him popping a wheelie through the intersection. I’m not going to lie, I was impressed. The kid inside of me thought, “Man, I want to pop a wheelie one day!” But the mature adult side of me thought, “Hopefully you’re not popping wheelies on a crotch rocket at age forty.”
I continued into the canyon and it was exhilarating. The sun was high enough to light the way but low enough to be behind me. It was the perfect amount of danger for my first ride on a canyon road. I got to practice cornering with large sweeping turns and was rewarded with a spectacular view at the end.
I stopped at a small biker bar on the corner of a random intersection. Harleys were parked out front and I parked my small Suzie in between two large ones. I walked into Cook’s Corner. It was a small dive bar, pretty empty, with peanut shells all across the floor. I went over to the bar and sat next to this guy that must have weighed close to 400 pounds. He was huge! He had a double shot of Jack in one hand, and a beer in the other. I asked the bartender about food and he pointed to the kitchen where I had to go place an order. I ordered a bacon cheeseburger with avocado, because here in California, we put avocado on everything. I returned to the bar and ordered a Stone IPA from the bartender. He had few words as he served it to me foaming over the brim.
I ate my burger (delicious!) and conversed with the individual next to me. He used to be in the army, and now he works at a hospital in LA – we were far from LA. He rides a 1500 CC Harley built for a big man. He asked me how long I had been riding. I told him that I just started in January. He then proceeded to tell me stories of him and his buddies going out for rides and the crashes he’s seen. He pulled out his phone and showed my pictures of a crash from his buddy who took a turn too fast and spilled on the low side. He ended up about thirty feet down the mountain with some broken ribs and a messed up bike. Apparently the crash happened two weeks ago, and his buddy is back on a bike riding again. Can’t get rid of the bug.
Another guy walked over because he overheard our conversation. He was skinny with gritty teeth and an incredibly long beard. His beard was probably bigger than my torso. He joined in, swapping horror stories and ragging on what his buddies did wrong to crash. The bartender stood there, with his hair covered by a bandana, wiping a glass clean. He shared some stories too. Is this customary at biker bars, to sit and talk about horror stories of your buddies crashing? If so, I need to find me a biker gang with people willing to spill on the road and give me juicy “he’s lucky he’s not dead” stories.
I’m halfway through my burger and I start to get to know the guy next to me. He looked hard, but he really wasn’t. I asked him what he was doing out there randomly on a Monday evening. The joint was empty. He stared at his empty double shot Jack Daniels glass and said, “I just got off of work and I didn’t want to go home. You?” I responded, “Mondays suck if you go home right after work.” He cracked a smile and it was this obvious recognition of a deep sadness that we were both there to try and stop thinking about. It was an unspoken solidarity. I bought him a beer, and at that precise moment, we weren’t alone. Being alone is best experienced on the open road.
The guy left after returning the favor and buying me a beer. I was sitting there finishing my burger and I realized…my life is totally like a movie right now! This scene is so classic! I chuckled at the thought of films actually being drawn from real life, although, it does make sense. Clearly I’m not the only one who’s ever randomly gone on a motorcycle ride for the sake of freedom and stopped at a dive bar for the sake of beer. I thought to myself, “If I were directing this film, how would this scene end?” A smile came across my face as I got to dictate what happened next.
I finished my burger, and my beer, and I tipped the bartender for both service and company. I grabbed my jacket in one hand and my helmet in the other. I slowly made my way to the front door of the bar, looking around to make sure I could remember the place. Then, with authority, I kicked the front door open with my head held high and hope in my eyes. There was a guy outside smoking a pipe through the small opening between his overpowering mustache and beard. He looked at me and asked, “Where you headed?”
I turned on my bike, put my jacket on, and right before putting on my helmet, I looked back at him with a new-found sense of determination and said, “I’m going home.”
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