Story of July 6, 2003

Part I:

I got up around 8, with such a bad case of the rambling feet I could barely put my shoes on. In fact I had to tie them to the bed so they’d stop ambling over toward the door. The rest of me was ready too. The day before I’d finally fixed the last quirk on my moped and I had expected to be in the great unknown by then. But as with all vast undertakings, things take a little longer than you expect them to. In any case, I’d spent the last few days making small but crucial adjustments to my luggage and the moped, and taking test runs to see how it held together. But by this morning, I was ready to go.

I loaded up the moped, crunched on my helmet, put on my head phones, and started playing “California Stars”, the song I’ve preemptively deemed the trip’s theme song and started on my way.

I started out going west on 59, a road I’ve traveled thousands of times in my life, out of Nyack and up past West Nyack, out through Nanuette, through Suffern and onward. The first 10 miles were all home to me. As I continued up the road, farther and farther from home my knowledge of the places I passed through started to shift from the generalized knowledge and comfort, to having a more and more specific relationship with certain places “I drove home from SUNY Rockland this way once”, “Oh, I went to that store once with Nick to get a Bass amp” and things like that, until eventually all that faded, and I was following maps. I was finally on the road.

I rode on, stopping occasionally to make minor adjustments to the ped, adjusting the mirrors and handle bars and things like that. Everything was going swimmingly until I got to the big hill outside greenwood lake. There’s a hill there that’s was a little too steep and a little too long for my moped to take by itself, and so I was helping out by pedaling. But as I pedaled, the pedal started making a thumpslide kind of feeling every rotation. It felt like the shaft that connected the pedals had somehow gotten bent, and I was, how you say, up shit’s creek without a paddle. I got off the ped, and walked further up the hill, looking for a place to stop and look at it more seriously. Up ahead I saw a sign for Pajeros Bar, with a big yellow standing sign that said “motorcycles welcome”. I could hear the angles singing, and pointing with huge neon arrows “stop here” they chorused, with four of them singing a “Doo-Op” accompaniment.

I pulled into a spot next to a huge BMW cycle, with lots of chrome and shiny leather. Next to this bohemeth, my tiny blue moped looked like the oddball kid brother. You know the one who is excited to run along with the big kids. The only difference, and the part that really made me grin, was that the BMW probly came 20 miles down the road to stop here on the way back home, and I was on my way on a Huge adventure that would take me deeper into life than I’d ever been.

There was a grungy trailer next to the bar, with a sign “best hot dogs in town” hanging behind the grungy window and dirt covered siding. I walked over, past two green plastic lawn tables pushed together, with two bikers sitting at them, side by side, surveying the road. One was short but built, with a head as hairless as a the palm of my hand, but with one long hair growing out of the very top of his right ear. I imagined him grooming this one hair, his little baby Harry. Perhaps modeling its curve with a fancy mouse, or combing with with a three bristled brush. Next to him was a slightly older, overweight biker with a number of missing teeth and big flip down sunglasses that made him look particularly hardcore. Both wore motorcycle t-shirts, with flames, venom and big sexy bikes worn thin from love. They were the quintessential bikers and I was dutifully cautious. Seeing how they had capitalized the only two tables, I noted unhappily that I would have to sit on the ground for my first meal on the road. I walked over to the hot dog trailer and knocked on the grimy sliding window. An old man slid it open, “What do you want?” he barked. He was an old man, at least 70, with wirey old muscles, and tawny old hair. He wore an old frown, and an old motorcycle t-shirt with an old bike on it. He also had an old goiter the size of a grapefruit protruding from the left side of his neck. “Two hot dogs, and uh, what do you have to drink?”. He grimaced and gave a sidelong glance at the cooler. “Soda and water. Lemon lime, Cola, and Root Beer.” “A water then I guess. It’s so hot.” “Yeah supposed to be near 95” He slid the window closed and went about his hot dogging.

I turned away from the trailer, and looked at the portion of hill I’d just come up. “You’re going across the country? On that?” One of the bikers must have noticed the sign on the back of my moped “Absolutely” I said. The bald one shook with laughter “OH that’s a pisser I swear! Across the country? HA that really is a pisser. How fast does that thing go?” he spoke with a longisland/upstate accent, very clearly, with a slightly clipped candor, like he were chewing gum and saying exactly what he knew he wanted to say between chews. “20-30” I said. They both laughed, “Good luck. Hey, Butch” the bald one called over to the trtailor, “this guy’s going across the country on a moped.” “Oh yeah?” Butch said from inside the trailer, “not bad.” He slid open the window again, and pushed a couple of dogs onto the aluminum counter along with a bottle of water. “Ice cold” he said proudly, “dollar fifty, I’ll give you a break” “Thanks, great,” I said as I got out the money. I took the dogs and water and sat down at one of the lawn tables, across from the bikers and started eating.

“So what you camping or something?”

“Yeah, I’ve got my tent, my sleeping bag, food, everything on the back of that sucker.” I said.

“Niiiice. Hey that’s smart, I like that, yeaaaah” he replied. “You know this really is a pisser. No kidding. What a trip.”

“What kind of a moped is that?” said bob from under the shade of the umbrella, which I realize now was the reason they were parked side by side like that in the first place.

“It’s a Kinetic. They’re made in India. I got it from down in Pensylvania.”

“Looks good I’m telling you,” Said Kenny who then turned back to Bob. “Buddy of mine went to that thing over at the lake” said Kenny, “he said it was wild. Just like Sturges. It was a trip.”

“Oh yeah?” the one with shades said, nursing a lemon lime soda.

“Yeah, he said it was wild. But the thing is, the thing is, he says you gotta go at night. At night it’s wild. See you can get a two day pass, but during the day all the people who are really there are all sleeping and drinking at their tents”

“Oh yeah, there’s camping back there. You go up through the fair and go on through and make a right, and it’s back there.”

“Right, yeah. So he says that everyone is asleep during the day, But at night! At night they all come out, and, OH let me tell ya, let me tell ya! He says there are babes. Naked. Just walking around. And other babes, they’ve got their shirts, their shirts are up here.” It’s a trip, let me tell you. Naked! I swear. Next year we’re going. I swear. Bob, next year, we’re going to get a tent, this is what we’re going to do, we’re going to get a tent, we’ll go up there, we’ll stay over night, it’ll be incredible. The best.”

Butch has come out of the trailer by this time and is leaning against it watching the road, his tattoos stand out from his leathery forearms like hieroglyphs. Every time a motorcycle passes, which is very frequently, he puts his fist up in the air, clenches it, and thumps it in the air. It’s not quite a pump, not quite a shake, a thump. and very deliberate. That movement doesn’t say just a word, like a wave says ‘hello’, it says ‘I know where you are, you’ve got the wind and road in front of you and it’s a beautiful day. Rock on. Live free or die. Nice bike. You know I wish I were riding right now.”

He does this every single time someone rides by which is about every minute and a half, with great intention, and a look of gravity to his face.

“So which way you going?” asks Butch.

“I’m going to take this over to route 94, then right on 1A, and then 1 to 6 and 6 all the way across Pennsylvania.” I reply.

“Ya, let me tell you how to go. You take this road up the hill, once you get over this hill it’s easy on through. You’ll pass a law office on the right and then a park on the left, then you’ll get to a stop sign. Go through the stop sign, there’ll be a parking lot on your right, go past that. There’ll be a little hill. Go up that and there’ll be a grave yard on the right”

Bob, the one with the shades, starts to laugh “and then you’ll see a pile of dirt on the left, and another street on the right,” He’s grinning a big happy grin, through his missing teeth and all.

Britney Spears seeped out of the radio on the low rock wall next to the trailer. Followed by Everclear.

“Shut it Bob I’m giving directions. Then you’ll see a deli on the right and the road Ts. Turn Left. Then go past the bakery and there’s a stop light up ahead.”

Bob laughed even harder. “there’ll be a duck by the side of the road. Go past the duck.”

“I said shut the fuck up you bastard I’m giving directions. Don’t pay any attention to him he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. Go strait until you see the sign for route 1A it’s after a big red barn that’s on the right. When you see the barn”

“There’s a chicken in the barn. Don’t worry about the chicken”

“Bob if you say another fucking word I swear… don’t pay attention to Bob he doesn’t know what the fuck he’s talking about. In any case, take that road, all the way to Rt 6.”

“Sounds good, thanks,” I said.

“ What do you mean I don’t know what I’m talking about, I drove on that road this morning. How the hell you think I got here?”

Butch crossed his arms and walked towards the road. By doing so he had effectively given us the cold goiter so to speak. “Did you hear what he said? He told me to shut up. I aught to…” Bob said to Kenny. “He has. I don’t know. He’s been grumpy all week.” Kenny replied.

Just then a beautiful old Harley rode by, chrome everywhere, but the warm tope of the gas tank. “Now that’s a beautiful motorcycle,” Yeah see that’s what I like. I like the older ones, these new one, they I don’t like. I don’t like the styling. I don’t like the way they drive. I don’t like them,” said Kenny.
“And besides, they’ve got all that plastic on them,” said Bob.

“Exactly. That’s exactly what I’m talking about.”

Butch walked over to the shade of the umbrellas. And Kenney reved up to tell us something else. You could see his whole face pick up the excitement of what he was about to say. “I went to that leather store the other day. Nice stuff, Really, nice stuff. And the women that were walking around there. Some of them, oh my goodness. Like this one chick, was with her boyfriend, but you know me, I’m always real friendly, and joking and laughing and stuff, well she’s this Beautiful woman, and I mean beautiful. She’s got these gorgeous, you know,” he hefted an imaginary pair of perfectly shaped breasts, and gave adequate pause for their importance, “and what a figure, I swear, beautiful. Anyway, she’s trying on this tight, tight, leather shirt and her boobs are all squeezed up like this and I’m telling you my jaw just dropped. And so I say to her, and her boyfriend. ‘Oh yeeesss. That is you! That is really you, it fits you just right. Really, nooo, it really is.’ And the boy friend is over there laughing, he knew what I was saying. It was great. But it doesn’t really get going until about 10, before then there are families and all that. But when it gets later, that’s when the beautiful women come. “ Bob laughed, and nodded appreciation. It did sound indeed lia good place. A biker’s paradise oasis. The day starts at 10 pm and is filled with babes, bikes, and beer.

“Jesus it’s hot” said Kenny.

“I’m so thirsty,” said Bob, “Butch only gave me one soda today. And look it’s warm, he said pressing the can to his cheek, draining the last drops, and dropping it into the garbage can.

“Don’t even mess around Bob, I swear, don’t fuck around with me.”

Bob and Kenney laughed, and the mood was light.

Butch came out of the trailer with another soda and placed it, sweating condensation on the table in front of Bob. “There you go. Ice Fucking Cold. Don’t tell me that’s not ice fucking cold.

I laughed and stood up, stretching my legs a little and shaking the sleep out of them. I drained the end of my water and told them I had to start moving on. It was great to get to meet them, a pleasure. “Have a great trip man, I’m saying, power to you, you know? Power to you. It’s a trip. It really is a trip.”

And indeed It will be quite a trip I thought to myself, quite a trip already and so much more to come. I Tightened the straps on my backpack, pedaled the bike awake, whipped around the parking lot, waved good bye, and rode up the rest of the hill with only a few good pedals. Well, maybe a bit more than a few.