Saddling Up

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I arrived in San Francisco on Tuesday, the 1st of May. It had been only a month or so since my last visit on business but the city always managed to incite a fervent feeling of nostalgia as if I had lived there, perhaps in another life. Once the charming cab pulled into my accommodations at 555 Airport Boulevard, I thought I might as well hang my hat here having called rooms 444 and 222 home for over 12 weeks straight. The familiar faces checked me into 141 this time - nothing numerically quaint but at least on the ground floor with a view of my steed.

A grin always conquers my composure when I turn the corner to still see my little engine parked there. It was never a discreet job; illegally parking for nearly half a year. For there was always a circle of dirt and leaves like a spotlight around the motorcycle. Last March the hotel was renovating and I was surprised to find her alone in the middle of a construction zone simply surrounded by cones. Every time I visited, even during short layovers, I half expected to find her elsewhere like at the impound lot. But, true to its name, she has always been a lucky one.

Where are my manners? Let me introduce the co-star to which this diary is named after: my motorcycle, my first love, Chance. She's a 2009 Triumph Bonneville T100 - a reboot of the 50s/60s British classic named after the famous salt flats in Utah where it broke countless land speed records. Bonnies, as they're affectionately called, were the iconic wheels of Marlon Brando, Steve McQueen, and James Dean just to name a few gents. Admittedly, it was a fictional woman who convinced me to join the ranks of the cool and rebellious. On the contrary, Chance had only been ridden as a means of escaping the lunacy that is Washington's public transportation, interstate traffic, and parking tickets which I suppose would've gotten at least a misdirected nod from the King of Cool.

Last summer was my first step towards true adventure on the bike, sharing a humble thousand miles with my lady behind me hanging onto dear life down the Oregon Coast. How the machine got to San Francisco is credited to an old adventuring buddy and fellow classic motorcycling enthusiast who jumped on the proposition to take my bike out for a spin. Well, a very long and cold spin, but it had to be done nevertheless as only a week into training at my new job revealed to me just how much I needed her not only as a means to get around town but as a stress outlet. Most men tend to refer to their precious motors in the femanine but I've yet to settle on a sex when referring to him so do mind the confusion. Oh, and with regards to the name, I've always had an affinity with luck ever since the day I was born (St. Patrick's Day). My vintage SAAB's name is Serendipity, my phone number starts with 777, green is my favorite color and so on. As cheesy as it sounds, together, the bike and I make "good luck," en francais.

"That's your bike," a passing by construction worker asked in bewilderment as I stopped to take a before shot. He stayed to watch the unvaling, insisting he had been dying to see what had been under there since their project started so many months ago. It was like opening a time capsule for the first time in a hundred years. Peeling off the dirty cover revealed plenty of dust and cobwebs although surpsigingly no birds nests. Still strapped onto the seat snuggly was a sleeping bag and a backpack containing some riding gear - all set up for me as if my past self prepared me an escape that might come in handy someday.

The only thing that momentarily gave my eye a twitch was finding one of the mirrors broken off... I shrugged. For six months of free parking? Still a damn good deal, karma. Then there was the moment of truth. The key slid in, everything lit up, and vroom! Fancy that! A successful cold start after sitting outside through a San Fanciscan winter and about 7000 miles overdue for a tune up!


"Lucky bastard," I uttered under my breath, referring to myself this time.

Of course I scheduled Chance to get serviced before this trip of no direction or timeframe but the earliest a shop out here could make an appointment for me wouldn't be until tomorrow. So in the meantime I had a lot to prepare.

Once in my room, I disrobed my pinstriped longcoat, or what I had dubbed my "gentleman's frock." I deliberately wore it knowing I would need to send it back home in a package along with everything else I wouldn't need on the road. For at least the train ride I wanted to look like a cilivized person one last time before embracing a coat of dust.

It was a relief to find all of my supplies made the journey intact. It took three weeks to secure all the items I could while at home from obscure corners of the Internet to a slew of military surplus stores. To supplement my own ideas on what would be necessary on this adventure I had read a handful of motorcycle touring guides and even Jupiter's Travels - a journal about a Brit who took his Bonnie around the world back in the 70s which inspired actor Ewan McGregor's own recent transworld motorcycle odyssey. From such books, my experiences, and certain romanticisms, this is what I came up with.

The theme was survival and self reliance so only key items required redundancy, not clothing. In fact, I was proud to minimize socks and underwear to two pairs each (don't worry Mom, they're the fancy antimicrobial kind). Though I vowed not to look for trouble on this journey, as I valued longevity over eventfulness just this once, for contingency's sake I humbly recruited some firepower for self defense. Though conscripted in reverence it was a pistol chosen for it's Bonne-esque charm as well as spartan utility: the rare Enfield No. 2 MkI*. Also known as the handgun of choice by Lawrence of Arabia, Sherlock Holmes, and Indiana Jones - I real adventurer's sidearm, that one! As antiquated as the weapon is, the obsolete and hard to come by ammunition helps facilitate making every shot count, choosing my battles, and a reminder that I have two wheels that can safely get me away from trouble as a preferred alternative.

Not all of the supplies were pictured there as many I still needed to procure while in town and that was the name of the game for the next couple of days.

Between my room and the hardware, automotive, and sporting good stores, I ran into earnestly curious people. I rarely got through checkout without an inquisition over my combination of purchases. At first I found it difficult to tell people about my circumstances which were ambiguous even to myself. Most of those who asked were my senior and it had been ingrained into my core to have a profound respect for anyone older than myself so one could imagine honestly admitting "I quit my job and I'm going on a road trip" to be stressful to me. However, once I became accustomed to the consistent reactions, I learned to say so with pride and gusto!

The first was an elderly woman on my last airplane ride home after making the decision to put an end to the high life. She smirked and looked me square in the eyes and told me to take as long as I need in a tone that would suit being followed up by an encouraging punch to the arm. Another was a former coworker who I gave my luggage to replace her broken one on her way to a flight a couple days ago. She reassured me a lot of the folks I used to fly with admire my decision. When I told her I didn't know how long I would be she confided about a backpacking journey that took her three years before getting her life straight. Many others expressed envy like a pilot I met at the hotel gym who wished he did something like that before he got too tied down. The conversations I enjoyed most were over home cooking with a lady I call Big Mama.

She owns the diner attached to the hotel and it's quite literally been my kitchen away from home since I took up working at my latest airline. It's not a odd sight to see me walk in with my pajamas, get the routine greetings like a scene from Cheers and have a seat with my usual order fired up to go. As the diner was my kitchen away from home, Big Mama was very much the same, always eager to hear what I've been upto and serving me extra portions on the house to put some meat on my bones, as she says.

"You should be a movie star," she exclaimed after hearing my short but sweet reply to what was new with me. I laughed and modestly shrugged, accepting that it could be one of many possible pursuits at the end of my journey depending on the epiphany at road's end. I saw her every day while I was here preparing and she always had something new to discuss about my circumstances. Sometimes they were about her unfullfilled dreams of becoming a singer, often times explaining how her intuition always figured me for someone not cut from the usual cloth, but always just how much she supported whatever I was going to settle with. She always said so in such a sincere tone that I never heard before. It's safe to say of all San Francisco's denizens, I'll miss her, the waitresses and kitchen staff the most as they've expressed mutual sentiments.

I ended up spending five attached nights to this city. The cause was for the obvious sentimentality but primarily due to just how much prep work I really needed to accomplish before setting off. Besides supply acquisition the main priority was getting this journey going. I often spent nights writing in the diner until I was the only guest there.

On nice days I'd sit by the lagoon and imagine what it would have felt like to be Mr. Thoreau, writing at Walden's Pond. It's taken the most of my available time but for every night I chose to stay put, I remind myself I've no destination and time is not of the essence. I wanted everything as ready as can be.

I insured the motorcycle shop made note of this as well. The nice service specialist who looked like one of the two blokes from Myth Busters was proud to tell me that Chance could be ready by the end of the day, which I was grateful for, but no rush - I insisted. By how they handled us (henceforth referring to Chance and I), I could tell she was going to be in good hands.

It was a quirky place - just what you'd think a motorcycle shop would be like in the heart of 'Frisco. Across the sea of Triumphs, Royal Enfields, and Ducatis, a riding jacket caught my eye from the other end the showroom floor. It was modeled after one of McQueen's and it screamed adventure. It was about half an hour of playing dress up in the mirror which I thought I wouldn't dare do anytime since since I had simplified my wardrobe to $20 jeans and white t-shirts that came in 3 packs. Not to mention how attached I already was to my signature vintage leather racing jacket. I couldn't decide there and the old coot behind the counter knew it, letting me take it home for some serious consideration.

I threw it back in the bag as soon as I got back to my hotel, settled on keeping what I had. I modeled them for the miss online and she agreed; take it back. Two days later, I get the call that my bike is ready and just as I was out the door, just for kicks, I try it on one more time...

I swear this isn't the same jacket I brought home. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw Che Guevera just before he left his last year of medical school to go on the motorcycle adventure that would change his life and arguably the world. I reconsidered. Apparently despite it's basic and vintage look, it's made from a water and wind proof material with slits that allow venting air on warmer rides. It has decent padded armor on the shoulders, elbows and forearms. And it's green. Congratulations, this shall be my new trademark top. As badass as I felt in my established iconic leather jacket, I knew of someone back home who had been eyeing it that could use it on his own bike once it's up and running.

To get back downtown I needed to hop on the local train which started at the airport. It was the longest I had gone without walking into one in years. I swung by my old stomping grounds and smiled at the scenery.

After an amusing day of rail lines breaking down causing delays and then being stuck in a car with some of the most uptight people I ever had to tolerate, I made it to the Mission District where my baby awaited me. I was very pleased with the service. Managed to save a couple hundred off labor since they found a lot of my ride to be surprisingly well-maintained and they got creative in replacing my mirrors. I risked asking for lots of advice but no judgements were passed and many pearls of wisdom were kindly bestowed. Can't say I recall the last time I shook someone's hand with such "oomph." Took the freeway home, ideally for the last time, and I must say it was exhilarating to be one with that machine again. I'd write a poem but my girlfriend might get jealous.

With Chance eager to vamanos all that was left was to get the gear on him. I spent the last two days tackling that feat as this was just as critical as gathering the supplies. Staging the bags required a lot of foresight to figure out the hierarchy of what things would require frequent fetching to emergency situations only.

After several arrangements, I've settled on this work in progress. It's passed some trial runs at varying speeds and banking turns so I'm confident this configuration will be successful for now. Yes, I just had to pay homage to Easy Rider by equipping the movie-inspired helmet to the rig. Initially just as a place to keep my spare but also as a good luck charm that should garner respect from other bikers, namely the all-American Harleys out there who would normally spit on anything that's not a hog. One of my hotel neighbors, an old former rider, praised my quest and steed. Whenever we see each other he enthusiastically greets me as Captain America.

Tomorrow I'll add the finishing touches of mounting the speaker system to which my long-time crafted playlist of 60s and 70s classic road-worthy music will flow out of. Then that's it. Grab a good lunch at the diner and be on our way. To where? I wondered. As I leaned back in my chair just now, I noticed a framed photo of a redwood forest. I think it was taken in Muir Woods - a place I heard of across the Golden Gate Bridge. Seems like a great place to start.

They say the moon is at its largest and brightest tonight. May it bring us good fortune on the roads to come!

Rest easy, buddy. Big day tomorrow...