One Step Closer

 

Las Vegas is a strange place to find yourself - both physically and spiritually. When I came to in that Escalante motel room some 18 hours later still smelling of campfire smoke and grinding sand in my teeth, I had no idea that I'd be heading west that day.

I slipped my boots off for the first time in two days but just before I considered hopping in the shower, a fleeting memory danced away back into my subconscience. Something important was learned before surrendering to my sleep deprivation, though like a dream, the more I tried to recall it the further it slipped away from me.

There were no clean clothes to change into having cycled through every article over the weekend, even lightly burning one in the bonefire. Thus, I took a rain check on the shower, leaving it for a duty of the next place I'd lodge. The wireless was unusually finicky here this morning so I dropped off my keys before checkout time and planned on referencing my map at the cafe. In the regimented process of saddling up, Chance's post-camping condition was difficult to ignore, albeit charming to an adventurer.

If anyone was getting a bath today it was him. With a dirty chain like that, I was grateful at how small a town this was since everything was almost within power walking or freewheeling distance. With her undercarriage relatively cleaned, chain lubricated, and the essential nuts and bolts retightened, I strolled over to the burger joint to grab a bite and wait for my ride to dry.

The cooks greeted me by my first name and my first thought was to ask myself what I did last night. Either Escalante was, indeed, a one horse town or I really was the stud Paige bragged to her neighbors about. The thunder of a bike caught my attention and out of habit I gave the rider a biker salute despite being on my feet and not wheels. To my surprise, the rider returned the salute, made a u-turn and pulled up next to me.

It was the man, himself, the Desert Doctor - or Doc as I liked to greet him as! Not needing a bike to identify me, he asked where all my friends went. His engine still in idle, I spared him my life story and just made a quip about going my own way. We shared a laugh about me leaving my job as a flight attendant and agreed seeing the world on the ground was best. He then turned off the ignition and regaled me with a story about a guy he just helped get back on the road. Though he found the fellow to be a prick, as the Doc put it, he was a former Foreign Legion soldier retracing his own travels with a motorcycle. The anecdote was left hanging without a clause or moral only to point out one of the Doc's newest sign ornaments.

Chuckling at the sight and recalling many Desert Doctor motifs all over town I remarked he might as well be mayor. With that he gave me his blessing for the road ahead and I wished him well. He would seemingly parade up and down that main road all day, extending our waves goodbye several times over.

At the cafe I pulled up the map and went to work to try to find Chance and I our next route and destination. An older couple sitting next to me started interrupting and then I had déjà vu. Instead of trying to shoo them away, I bit and found out they University of Washington alumni like John from before! One was a journalist, the other an archaeologist, traveling around the world in the Peace Corp for decades. After hearing about my circumstances they fondly replied that they, too, started out doing something similar and the adventures just snowballed into the fruitful lives they lead today. It was nice to get a pat on the back and the prospect of a life of never ending adventure.

Their cooling pizzas managed to occupy them and leave me to my mapping duties. East was looking good with experiencing the rest of Highway 12, visiting some Native American cave dwellings I had long been fascinated with, then a ride through the quintessential western movie backdrop known as Monument Valley, first suggested to me by the Easy Rider fan back in San Francisco. Just then, I received a text message from Ali.

At first I was afraid to open it considering what I may or may not have said about her around the campfire our last night. A reluctant peak turned to surprise and then a considerable half smile. She was giving me a heads up that if I planned on visiting Vegas that she would be out of town for the weekend. I nearly forgot that I once mentioned to Ada and her that swinging by the City of Sin was possible but I'm sure I meant it as an expression to the lack of direction I had. Heading west at this point would be a setback in a geographical sense and, honestly, what's in Las Vegas for me? A courteous but unenthusiastic reply was sent back.

Later, standing by Chance outside the cafe, I frowned and whipped out the map again. In a ho-hum fashion I played out the ride west back into Nevada and with backtracking through roads I had already traversed, it looked even more unlikely. The engine fired up and I staged myself perpendicular to the main road. There were no cars left or right and yet I took an unusual amount of time to angle my wheels east and finally turn in. We barely were at the tiny hamlet's limits before I pulled over again in conflict with myself. Slightly flustered, I could swear hearing a flutter in Chance's engine that sounded like a laugh.

Shut up. All right, say we even consider going to that blasted city. There is no point in the overall Schlieffen Plan-esque sweep to fit it in. It was either now or never. I don't know what came over me. I swiveled open my switchblade-like phone and texted,

"I'll be there tonight."

Chance swung her tail around and charged westward.

 

At no point in that 5 hour, 300 mile ride did I question why I was going this way. Something just told me that according to the progression of my journey thus far, it's best to leave direction to the wind and destination to the setting sun. There was something for me in Las Vegas that I simply had to trust would present itself. Having hinged on a boon for over a week now, at this point, I'm just leaving it to chance. And what better place than the gambling center of the universe?


We parked around back a hotel/casino that was offering ridiculously cheap rates, especially for the couple of days I would need to spend documenting my time with my new motorcycle club and their friends. A man not much older than me joined in my search for the main entrance, saying he was riding behind me for quite some time and wanted to know what was on my head. He was referring to my experiment with mounting the camera on the helmet. "Well, I quit my job, hit the road and I'm trying to figure my life out," I probably said for the third or fourth time that day. He smiled earnestly and commented, "Living the dream." The fellow went on to say he wish he could but he had a baby on the way and he was here to try and win some money. I wanted to offer pity but it didn't sound any more ridiculous than what I was doing. The obscure hotel front desk appeared and he veered towards the heart of the casino but not before wishing one another the best of luck.

My room was plush to say in the least. It was actually a step up from the LAS hotel I used to layover at as a flight attendant. It made up for being put up on the second floor for once but I still had a good view of Chance.

The sun had set poetically just as I covered her up for the night. After lugging my saddlebags up stairs, I noticed I had misplaced my iconic little red phone. It was deduced that it fell from my pocket during the ride, much like the very first one I owned (yes, I liked it enough to get a second). I took it as a hint that Chance knew I wasn't a phone person so why bother? Oh right, the girl.

I managed to get in touch with her online and Ali sounded rather excited to play hostess the following night. Ada and some of their friends would be invited to go hang out at one of their favorite watering holes too. In the meantime, I had some time to myself to figure out how to fit back into the city scene. I must've looked like a mountain man returning to civilization for the first time - at least if you could call it that.

Content with my hours spent outside in the heat, I convinced myself to partake in one of the infamous cheap buffets within the casino. The gauntlet to the restaurant was frought with blinding lights, blaring sounds, copios amounts of smoke, and, of course, depressing tourists donating their money to the Nevada economy. I had never felt so outside of my surroundings. I just could not relate. However, despite failing to fit in, my waiter, at least found my manners to be a breath of fresh air. A mountain man with manners.

Three nights would be spent at that institution. The idea is usually to lure people with the cheap accommodations and suck their wallets dry at the gaming tables. If the suits found out I didn't lose a dime on their floor without intention, I probably would've been kicked to the curb. Instead, they were abused for a quiet place to write. In fact, the daytime restaurant host would nickname me as such. "Same table, Mr. Writer?"

The one affinity I had with this curious city was recalled crossing a street while looking for a place to stay by the name of Howard Hughes Parkway. A peculiar historical icon to call a hero, I felt like I always understood his inner conflict and difficulties in playing nicely with society. Apparently he spent the last ten years of his life moving from hotel to hotel, finally coming to rest in Vegas as the troubled recluse he'd unfortunately be known best for. Holed up in my room for my entire stay, drying my clothes under every hangable surface, leaving bottles and cans of caffeinated drinks everywhere, and even talking to myself as I obsessed over writing from sun up to sun down - I must've gave the fellows behind the ceiling cameras a scare that the eccentric had been reincarnated. But I digress. I did leave my room once.

The second night there was a rapping at my chamber door. Ali welcomed herself in and even helped herself to rummaging through what I had forgot to clean in anticipation for her arrival. It was amusing to see that her carefree personality from camp was consistent back in the city even with makeup.

Taking peculiar wonderment at my worn passport, I offered getting her a job with the airlines, though I secretly didn't want to spoil her passion for travel for she seemed like someone who prided herself in getting around by her own bootstraps. Planes just made the world too small a place, in my opinion, and the journeys unappreciated. The young lady would state later that night, though she loved the pubs that she was showing me, working at one would cause her to develop a disdain for what she held dear. We were certainly on the same page on that and more.

At her alma mater, the Stake Out Bar and Grill, the two of us were initially seated at a booth. The waitress took down a beer for Ali after a bit of confusion, an "AMF" for me. "You mean an Adios Motherfucker," the waitress confirmed nonchalantly. "Ahah, I was trying to be polite in front of the lady," I coyly laughed to which the lady in question boisterously denied such a title. As the laughing waitress fetched our drinks, Ali asked what was exactly in an "adios mf'er" with a smirk. Proudly, I rattled off the ingredients only to be met with her declaring it as a Long Island Iced Tea with 7-Up. Poppycock - that's a girl's drink. I am already one strike away from handing over my man card.

The first of many friends walk in. A jovial guy by the name of Tory with whom Ali couldn't seem to talk about bicycling enough with.

The waitress came back with my once-proud cocktail that did start to strike me as being baby blue in color then took our food order. Impulsively, I went with a salad. When that came, I suddenly regretted it too for it was not just a quaint sampling of a garden but an entire bush. I was really out of my element here. Eventually the rest of her gang showed up including Ada and we migrated to a larger space to seat us all, chugging what I could of my alternatively girly drink on the way.

They all seemed very friendly, actually! Ali got a kick out of introducing me with my tagline life story, though I had to correct her several times about how long I had been on the road. She even went on to say that I sang some Don Quixote which seemed to excite Tory. At first I embarrassingly tried to change the subject but then he rolled up his sleeve to show me a tattoo on his arm. Now I was excited. It was Picasso's sketch of Don Quixote and Sancho Panza - the very same I mentioned to Ali that I desired back at camp in response to her own Picasso tat!

Though I was onto my second AMF, I attribute my merriment to the great energy I was getting off her friends! Truly, I wish I had remembered my camera and filmed the entire affair for the conversations had between each one of them were as enjoyable as had I been shooting the breeze with my Dead Sea Gull brothers and sisters. One of them pointed out the randomness of my dinner choices: AMFs and a bushy green salad. Bursting out in laughter, I loudly confessed that I didn't even want the salad! I continued to admit through my tearful guffaws that I just thought it would impress her friends! We all lost ourselves to hilarity at that revelation. Somehow a casual get together of old college chums became my own party as one of Ali's friends would shake my hand in thanks for hosting.

Realizing I was being too rowdy, I comically apologized to the bar across the room and zipped my lips. Ali somehow got my attention and noted that I was reminding her of myself around the bonfire the final night. Oh boy, I quickly took it down a notch to listen respectfully. Scolding that impulse, she explained that at camp, I went back and forth with being reserved and freespirited like Jekyll and Hyde. She reiterated, "This isn't me! This isn't me! But, damnit, Bonne - that was you!" The girl had my attention. With a tone that would precede a punch to the shoulder or even a slap to the face perfectly, she advised that I just needed to learn to let go and embrace whatever I think needs to be hidden from the public. Hitting it on the head further, she said that I should stop wishing I could learn to like beer and just enjoy the damn drinks I like. "Beer's cool but you can make that fucking drink awesome if you wanted". She may have used more expletives but remember, at this point I'm beyond buzzed and my memory was blurring. However, she did put it in a way that brought me right before my overdue Ahah! moment that Nickolas tried to tell me before. That was it.

In an instant the last six years made sense. It started with a broken heart, the loss of me, and the vow to rebuild myself far from the person I once was. This jaded outlook permeated to all aspects of my being - what I valued, who I associated with, my career choices, relationships, the build of my body and even the tone of my voice. I toughened up, in other words, focusing on doing whatever I could to beef up my image and reputation thinking that as long as I could go to bed knowing I was some kind of badass, my own ego would keep me warm. For those around in the last six years, bring up any endeavor, any behavior, anything said or thought and I'm confident in confessing it wasn't exactly me. It was what I wanted you to think of me. The truth of the matter was that I had buried my integrity.

It wasn't even always being a man's man. Often my impulses were shaped by preemptive assumptions of what society would approve of. For instance, my knee-jerk reaction to my recent misadventures was to judge myself and find a way to correct my thoughtless behavior when a more true-to-himself Bonne would've been celebrating escaping the jaws of death yet again. The fact that I couldn't fabricate an epiphany from those events was because I was ignoring the truth. It would escape me from time to time, unbeknownst to me, be it from someone else's insight through a poem or from my own uttering of an old personal philosophy as my famous last words.

Who I was before was innocent yet daring in a boldly curious way - not out to prove anything. I was sensitive, nurturing and compassionate, leaving tough love to be a last resort. I would embrace my childhood without shame. I inherently put all others before myself and couldn't even wrap my mind around the concept of egocentricity. I used to not care what others thought of me, even inspiring many to do the same. I once looked at the world as boundless opportunities to appreciate not profit from. I loved wholeheartedly without keeping a foot on the ground. I leaped first and built my wings on the way down, never regretting if I hit the bottom. I was all of this and more... And I needn't be spoken of in the past tense any longer if I didn't want to.

...

What a strange place to find myself again: staring down the bottom of my third glass at a bar in the heart of Las Vegas next to a lady who would've never struck me as a philosopher. I doubt she would regard herself as one. She just lived her life true to herself.


While I was lost in thought, Ali had been speaking to Tory about something troubling her. Unintentionally I listened in until she noticed. She seemed better that I was aware of what she was going through, confiding that she tagged along with Ada to Escalante on a whim just to get away from it. Continuing to divulge, she insisted that getting out there reminded her of what she loved to do, gave her much needed perspective and somehow I was a part of all that, dropping a word of thanks. In a way we seemed to be in the same boat and a series of unlikely events allowed our paths to cross to exchange something missing in our respective lives.

With her friends slowly disappearing from the table to resume whatever they do on a school night, I thought at first to remind Ali that she should go home and start packing for she had an early flight to San Francisco in the morning. But in my first act of reverting to a more sincere person, I took it back and said what I wanted to say which was that the night was still young. She liked what she was hearing and proposed that anyone still up for fun should come with us to Fremont Street!

The extended night, though brief, reminded me of a Lost in Translation montage. We sang at the top of our lungs in the car (my brother was right; We Are Young is best blasted), went to her all time favorite bar in a obscure part of Vegas that I could actually identify with (that reminded her of a place Edgar A. Poe would hang out at), got free drinks from the bartender (who made me the best Adios Motherfucker ever), met more of her outstanding friends (one of whom I somehow held a Japanese conversation with), incidentally ran into her ex (who was now dating a freaking pilgrim-looking weirdo), and entertained one another with twenty questions back and forth all the way back to my hotel (where we finally wished each other well and delayed our goodbyes with a welcomed hug).

When I stepped inside the casino floor and the doors closed behind me, the great music in my head seemed to stop. Frowning in the same way I did when I fought the idea to turn west days before, a part of me slowly being restored one step at a time sent me running back out the doors.

She was long gone. I chuckled, a bit embarrassed and shook my head. Then I took a strong deep breath, content with what I'd be leaving this out-of-way city with: my good old self.