SO I’M HERE in frosty Little Rhody, spooning on a new set of tires I intend to ride off my wheels in the Arctic this spring. The tires are way too stiff to mount in the driveway at 20-something Fahrenheit, so I’m doing the job in front of a toasty woodstove where they’re more pliable, and I’m thinking if anyone asks me to sneak up on the secret of life today, capture it as an aphorism, I’ll say: Marry a woman who won’t care if you work on your motorcycle in her living space.
Then I think won’t care is a stretch… better make it won’t leave ya.
I’m working away, getting set for Alaska, and out of the blue comes a text from ol’ CCjon. He’s just checking in to report that the Universe put the boots to him. Again.
He’s in busted-up biker oblivion, self-medicating in a Miami motel. His middle son, Alan, is driving 1,200 miles from Houston, due to arrive today. Alan will rent a trailer, collect his old man, get his old man’s bike out of an overseas shipment crate, load it onto the trailer, head back to Texas.
You remember CCjon. We met in Alaska some years ago while loading our motorcycles on a boat for a three-day sail down to Bellingham, WA.
He turned up here in Little Rhody a few summers ago, on his way to Labrador. And we rode together in the west this past summer, hit or miss. Lost track of him in Montana, saw him again a few weeks later in Washington; then on through Idaho, Nevada, Utah, Colorado and New Mexico, before he and his Colombian nephew, Iron Man Nestor, turned south for Texas, and I got pointed east through Oklahoma, bound for New England.
As you know, CCjon and I have been trying to get to South America for three winters now. Our shipping deals keep falling through, despite that we negotiate with only the finest outfits listed in the Yellow Pages under sketchy individual with dockside connections.
Sometimes I wonder if the Universe isn’t saying Stay wood, Pinocchio. But we want to be real boys, oblivious to subtlety. So hint away, Universe, can’t hear you can’t hear you can’t hear you!
South America’s a do-over for CCjon, one that’s personally important to him to achieve. The last time he was there he totaled a BMW motorcycle in the wilds of southern Argentina. Woke up on a desolate road spitting gravel, a day and a half away from medical care. Spent a week in a hospital, then a ranch family took him in for a few weeks, until he was fit enough to board a plane for home.
I recently begged off on Expedition Do-Over The Year-3 Attempt, only because we should have been there in September. By January you’ve missed the best part of the summer riding weather below the equator.
Meaning to exit the U.S. solo, CCjon rode to Miami last week, there to put his KLR-650 and sidecar on a plane to Bogota. I said have a good journey, amigo, I’ll run into you one of these years on a road in some other part of the world.
He sent me this pic from the air-freight place in Miami. Said he’d hang around for a few days to make sure the Universe didn’t have a last-minute trick up its sleeve. He wasn’t going anywhere until he knew for a fact his bike had cleared the customs maze and been loaded on a southbound jet.
He checked in a day later and all was well, they were crating his bike for shipment. Here’s the start of it, the bike lashed down, wheels chocked…
Next thing you know, CCjon’s walking down a busy road with a spring in his step, South America’s finally happening! Life’s just super. Until it suddenly isn’t.
There before him, a young driver is looking to pull out of a parking lot into heavy traffic. CCjon reckons there’s no opportunity to pull out. Difference of opinion there, ’cause when CCjon walks in front of the car the driver hits the gas.
I’m sure it was an odd sensation for a motorman well-experienced in the hazards of the two-wheeled life: to fly through the air unconcerned about your own motorcycle landing on you. No danger there, bike’s in a crate at the airport.
He’s in no condition to ride, or even drive. I’m told it’s all soft-tissue damage, wrenched muscles, bumps and bruises, but this is Dr. CCjon practicing medicine without a license. He wouldn’t let the ambulance crew transport him to an emergency room. Real bikers thrive on adversity, he’s happy to adopt an attitude of watchful waiting; see how things go while hanging around the fleabag awaiting today’s ride back to Houston.
I’m working on my wheels when I get his self-diagnosis by text:
“Nothing broken, nothing life threatening. Just another adventure in living.”
I text back: “You ever feel star crossed as regards South America? The land of the Inca got you this time before you even got there. Dangerous being a motorman, ain’t it. Hell, now you’re dangerous as a footman, amigo. Heal up for Alaska in May. And the NWT. All roads lead to Tuktoyaktuk.”
“Hmmmmm, yeah can be ready by then.”
Tony DePaul, January 12, 2019, Cranston, Rhode Island, USA
Many thanks for the well wishes. Our family Doc exclaimed how very very lucky I am. The orthopedic doc, after viewing the x-rays, declared no broken bones, no joints injured, only deep tissue contusions.
Star-crossed, eh? well we found a used trailer on CL, bought it, went to a tire store and bought a spare “just in case”. Monday AM, we uncrated the South America bound KLR, loaded it on the trailer and headed back to Texas. Turning our backs on Miami and its drivers.
Thank heavens for heated seats for the sore back when riding all day.
On the second day, only seventy miles from home, a tire on the trailer blows as we cruise I-10 at 72 mph. Trying to mount the “new” spare, we discover the shop in Miami sold us the wrong size. Good thing for them they are 1200 miles away, but their ears must be burning hot….
The spare truck tire wouldn’t fit the trailer either. Called AAA and waited. The closest Walmart auto was closing in 20 minutes. An hour later, the tow truck arrives, so we have him take the trailer all the way to the house in NW Houston.
Three hours later than expected, we’re home.
Now to heal, work on planning the next adventure. Alaska you say…..hmmmm?
CCjon
Thanks, all, for your concern. As of a half-hour ago, CCjon was in the truck and headed for home, his son at the wheel. Pain’s getting worse, he said, not better, so he’s eager to see his doctor in Houston. That won’t be until Wednesday at the earliest, I imagine.
While we were texting, I got an automated email notice saying he had posted a report on his blog. It’s dated yesterday. Turns out he wasn’t hit at a curb cut. I must have misunderstood his initial texts. He was hit at an intersection.
https://ccjon.blogspot.com/2019/01/hackin-south-america-or-not.html?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+RidingTheHorizon+%28Riding+The+Horizon%29
He better stay out of Phoenix also. Running down Peds and leaving the scene is a serious sport here, only beaten by wrong way drivers and police involved shootings. Sorry about the injury but I do believe everything happens for a reason. I am sure he will only be stronger after rehab. No telling what awaited him in SA.
Glad your friend survived Miami traffic. For years, Florida has been among the top 2 or 3 states for pedestrian fatalities.
Give him my best, your friend from Labrador. I was in Rhoda for MC event in Greenwich. Not enough time to say Hi. Ride safe. Maybe I will see you in Alaska this summer!
Oooof. Some things are not meant to be, it seems.
Nice seeing you at the dealership last week Tony. You haven’t changed a bit in 20 years. Great catching up. Wish I had more time that day to chat. Enjoy your arctic trip. I will live vicariously through you. Enjoy!!
CCJon may believe (rightfully) that the pedestrian has the right of way, yet the young driver in the vehicle obviously doesn’t subscribe to that rule. I hope the body recovers well.
Can it get any weirder? Glad he’s not broken.