VMC Meet Day 2 (@ Laughlin and the Mob Rides)

My biological clock was in good form and I woke up before dawn but had the good sense the work on sleeping in until 6:30 which left me with four hours before the big group ride started. I got up for good then showered all the while thinking about how to get to Cinnabon over at the Riverside Casino and Hotel. I walked along the river walk and into the casino, around the casino, upstairs from the casino, to the casino map and was still unable to find it, not even a whiff. I decided to walk it off and spend some time praying again for La Crescenta and about my own day ahead and really enjoyed the stroll nearly as much as I had imagined the cinnamon roll would taste. Almost.

I stopped for a little bit and watched the waterfowl at work. A few Coots, Ring-necked Ducks, and even a Double-crested Cormorant were working the river. The birds in the middle of the river would drift by on the main current only to pick up and fly back upstream for a ways and float back down occasionally diving after fish. Actually, the coots would run/fly, flapping their wings and running on the water. The few birds plying the shoreline, mostly pairs of Mallards, would paddle themselves upstream looking for tidbits in the river grass and moss but it seemed to me a lot of hard work for the rewards. While the river offered life sustaining sustenance it made them work for every scrap.

Deciding on a real breakfast I went back to the Aquarius and ate at the diner having a skillet of scrambled eggs, sausage, and potatoes which were too obviously from a frozen package. There was a big table of six Victory riders breaking up as I came in and we exchanged greetings. Towards the end of my meal a guy came in and sat down at the table next to me; he could have been a rider but I wasn’t sure with his nicely trimmed hair and clean shaven face while wearing casual clothes like a business man on a work trip. I went out to my bike early thinking I’d be one of the first out there and this was not the case as there were many riders out wiping down their bikes, cleaning the windscreens, and checking out their gear. About 20 minutes later the guy who sat near me at breakfast came out in worn riding pants complete with wallet chain, a finely festooned riding vest, and his hair all spiked up. I chuckled at this and then pondered my own transformation with new harness style riding boots as opposed to the lace-up with ankle buckles style I had been wearing, my new leather jacket I’d gotten with this trip (and winter riding) in mind as opposed to my mesh jacket with padding, and I was wearing a Victory bandana. The bandana is no stretch for me as I can be seen in any water park, rafting trip, Mission Arizona, or desert work trip photo with one. Nevertheless, even my choice of helmets for the group ride was to look like a cool cruiser as I went with the shorty helmet instead of the full-face helmet I had ridden in with. We do tend to dress the part and work for acceptance, something that can work to my disadvantage as a Christian living in the world but not being a part of the world. It’s a fine line that gets rubbed out in the sand like the batters’ box chalk lines on a ball field by the second inning.

Riders started mounting up and the parking structure rumbled and shook with the roar of the engines, especially Ron’s Kingpin. We pulled out of the structure and out to the parking lot where we could form up and the ride leader called us over for the pep talk; we’d ride in staggered formation, within 5 miles of the speed limit and right at the limit when going through a couple of little towns. The ride leader’s handle is LordandMaster; unfortunately I never got the chance to explore that with him but I have my doubts that it’s the same Lord I call Master. I’d never considered a motorcycle handle for myself until this trip when I was asked what mine was for my banquet name tag. I’ve had a lot of nicknames in my life; some would be decent riding handles, others, not so much, and still others inappropriate in any case. While Jer-Bear works around church and the kids it hardly fits the type of persona I’m trying to project as a tough rider. Thoughts on how I would come up with a handle swirled around in my head the rest of the trip. I have a couple of scenarios that might work for me but what is the correct etiquette on something like this? Wouldn’t it be somewhat pretentious to come up with one myself and have a readymade story about it? Shouldn’t you earn a riding moniker and have it bestowed on you in some tribal ceremony? I see the need for research before I make an unalterable blunder. Who knew trying to fit in a riding club could be so complicated?

We rumbled out of the parking lot, eighty bikes, two of which were the first Victory trikes that I had seen. We soon crossed the Colorado River into Arizona and made our way to the Kingman Victory Dealership and a free BBQ lunch. Don’t worry, he probably broke even with all the clothing and gear everybody bought and his store got a lot of attention that day. It was quite a site with sixty or so bikes stretched out over a quarter of a mile ahead of me and another twenty behind me. We wove our way through some small towns after lunch and worked our way up to Meadview where we could have ridden down at twenty bucks a bike for a look at the lake; no one did. We stretched at a little gas station market and looked at the mountains that separated us from the Grand Canyon which we could have seen by riding over a 20 mile dirt road to the Skywalk; image the dust that would have been raised for everyone except the LordandMaster. A young mother with two small children came up to me to find out what so many bikes were doing in one place at one time. I told her it was a club meeting ride and that we were also doing a fundraiser for the Susan B. Komen Foundation. Even with the controversy for that group she thought it was cool and went away happy we weren’t a rough and tumble biker gang that had come to town.

 That was the turnaround point and when we headed back and I put myself closer to the front of the pack and wished later that I stayed back when we made an interchange and I got stuck waiting. It took a pretty fast pace to catch up and lead my sub-pack back to the group and once there had to maintain an uncomfortable pace of over 80 MPH to stay with them, so much for staying within five miles an hour of the speed limit. It was just like a bunch of rental horses once you turn them around to head back to the stables. There wasn’t much time to enjoy the desert surroundings doing that kind of riding and I was glad when the leader pulled over to gas up his smaller bike and basically told everyone that we could go on. It was nice following three Victory Visions at a statelier pace the last thirty miles back to the Aquarius. I wiped down my bike and went to my room for a little reading of “Taken” by Robert Crais before going down to the banquet.

Kevin and his group from San Gabriel Valley and Santa Clarita had a table filled up so I found one and joined a couple from Flagstaff, Arizona. They store their bikes in Phoenix to get more opportunities to ride through the summer. Soon another solo rider joined us from Corona and then Jerry and Susan from Phoenix who ride one of the trikes sat down with us. I’d struck up an acquaintance Jerry and his wife as this was their first time at an event like this, were more nervous about it than I, and he had the same name so memorization was not a problem. Our table was rounded out by a couple from Utah who had to trailer their bike south to reach passable roads to join the meet. They don’t know my old high school teacher Joseph Jesnsen but we had bikes in common to talk about. Age wise, I believe that I was about the middle of the age range at the table which is another strange occurrence as I’ve spent so much of my time with young students and their parents, also younger than I am. During the raffle drawings I was the only one at the table not to win anything and we held out for me to win the 50/50 drawing. No luck. The evening came to an end without having a lasting acquaintance started unless we all happen to make next year’s tenth anniversary event and actually remember each other.

I went out to the casino, worked the poker machine to break even for the trip, went to my room and finished “Taken”.

VMC Meet Day 1 (Getting to Laughlin)

Friday morning, the 10^th of February came and I had my kickstand up and wheels rolling by 8:20 in the morning and hit the 210 West moments later. As the Verdugo Hills Golf Course slid by on my right I felt the tug of leaving home and being on the road alone but once I was heading down the grade to the Hansen Dam basin I was into it. With no traffic to speak of west bound and the heavy work traffic east bound I was tempted to shout out “SUCKERS!”. Who but me would hear it and then I’d have to live with the echoes of it in my helmet. Next up was the wonderful 210/ 5/14 interchange where I could choose LA, Bakersfield, or Palmdale; not a very romantic sounding trio of destinations. I took the 14 northbound and quickly left the heavy development behind through the Newhall Pass. My Victory Cross Country paid little attention to the upgrade and I was passing folks who delayed putting their foot down to maintain speed and I reminded myself to remain vigilant even when I found a nice bubble in the traffic. Shortly after the interchange and as the truck lane merges again with the freeway is when the less astute drivers remember to depress their gas pedal to maintain uphill speed and jump on it to make up for slowing to 60; they seem to find their aggression about then and you have to be wary of them running up your backside.

On my way up to the Pearblossom Highway (138) I noted some of my landmarks; Sand Canyon Road just because it sounds interesting, the Red Rover Mine Road that would lead me to Hauser Mountain up above where I had built my first, and only, microwave radio site from the ground up, then Acton, known as Yuckton by less enthusiastic residents I’ve known where there is an interesting business with western wagons and life sized or larger plastic animals for sale that I’ve always meant to go to and bring Cindy back a six foot rooster. Perhaps it would be better to drop in on a ride some time so I’d be less likely to let my humor stray and lay an egg of a joke. I passed by the off ramp to the Angeles National Forest Highway that would have beautiful, chilly, and only ended  me back at home until I found the exit to the 138. This route took me along the western side of Palmdale with the speed limit of 60, residences along the east side, and stop lights every half mile. I’m never comfortable about this speed limit here; it just seems unnatural going so fast in a neighborhood.

Once I got out of the town and heading along the 2 lane highway toward Littlerock the Angeles Forest was on my right and should’ve been shrouded in snow this time of year only now there were just patches on this north facing slope, still pretty but it left me with worries about a possible new drought. Going the route I’d chosen allowed me to avoid the 210 East to the 15 and only cost me about 10 miles of travel. It was worth it since this route is free of the urban surroundings and let me feel like I was away much earlier than the shorter, faster route. I kept an eye out for other riders making their way along to Laughlin but found none. I kept some hopes of finding some at Barstow, just up Highway 15 from Victorville where I made the change from the 138 to 15. It was good to be on the 15 for only 40 minutes or so with the Vegas crazies hitting 85-90 MPH; not that I couldn’t run with them on this bike but it’s just out of my comfort zone and the sooner I was off of the 15 the better it would be.

I gassed up at Barstow and checked my mileage which was a respectable 50 MP/G for the highway ride then paused for lunch and to take a few notes for this post and then looked around quite a bit for other Victory riders heading my way. No luck there. The group from Santa Clarita and the San Gabriel Valley all left Thursday making it a four day ride weekend and I was planning to meet up with them at the ride sign-in at the Aquarius in Laughlin. No luck there either as it turned out. I headed out of Barstow and jumped on the 40 east toward the 95 where I took the 163 toward Laughlin and where I gassed up to be ready for Saturday’s ride. The 40 was nice, quite a few trucks but they were orderly and professional. The Joshua-tree groves here and there were nice and for some reason made me think of my grandson Jeremiah; sometimes strange dots are connected on a long ride and you take your pleasant thoughts when they come and where they take you.

I didn’t see another Victory rider all day until I pulled into the parking structure and our “designated” area where I found about 30 bikes and more groups of 2 or 3 bikes at a time pulling in as I made the acquaintance of Rob, a rider older than me who rode a 1999 Kingpin, the first year Polaris started making motorcycles. He was a proud owner and technically much more savvy than I about the bikes and their equipment. His was equipped with loud and hot pipes, neither of which is a favorite thing to do with a bike for me. Rob is a Veteran, proud of it, and passionate about honoring the Armed services and he had patches on his vest to prove it. This would be a fairly common theme amongst the riders many of whom ride honor guards for fallen soldiers and others returning home to their communities.

I stuck around the sign-in area hoping to meet some folks and snag an invite to dinner but none was forthcoming. I wasn’t feeling very outgoing as my heart and mind where with the CVHS students and community with the tragic suicide at my old high school; I know several students there and considered going home once I found out what had happened while I was on the way out. Instead, I prayed in my room and on my walks for them but it was hard to shake the feeling that I wasn’t where I was needed or where I should be.

As I wondered around the casino scoping out the bars and other gathering places I saw many of the other club members who were easily identified by their club gear mostly in the form of vests festooned with club patches, Victory caps, tee shirts, and mechanic’s style Victory shirts. I only have the cap for when I’m not on the bike; maybe I’ll have to add a vest or something so that I can be more easily identified at club events. I saw Kevin, my L.A. area contact but he was heading out with a group; he wouldn’t know me by sight and I’m not one to intrude. After dinner by myself I walked along the river and listed to a flock of Canada Geese up stream, played a few bucks worth of video poker, and then went to my room to read and catch up with Facebook news of the tragedy. It was a sad day indeed for our little town.

I ended up getting to sleep a little later than my regular time which is early. With over 300 miles ridden that day and a 200 mile day full of the unknown starting in the morning it was a good choice.

Anticipation

“Anticipation, anticipation
Is makin' me late
Is keepin' me waitin' “ Carly Simon

It is one in the morning and I’ve been priming the pump, hoping for inspiration, looking for a reason to write. Priming the pump by reading scripture, reading about writing, planning a pathway to PAR’s story; even this blog as well as Calvary’s Thread has been meant as a warm up to a larger work. Who is to say what actually woke me up to get a drink this morning and crawl back into bed only to have sleep elude me as worries invaded my thoughts and danced around in some bazaar rehearsal of personal interchanges that I would just as soon avoid. I fought off the destructive thoughts by engaging in the fantasy of rebuilding my past with some out-of-reach sports glories only to have me start in thinking about my upcoming trip and how it will relate to PAR. The struggles continued until I gave into the small voice that told me to write and now here I am writing about wanting to write. It’s makin’ me late, keepin’ me waitin’ for sleep but that’s what anticipation does.

Friday, I head off to Laughlin, NV for the Southwest Region of the Victory Motorcycle Club (VMC) meet and ride. Anxious anticipation; I won’t know anyone there, been a Lone Wolf rider and now looking to see what the pack might have to offer, what sort of story materials will be there. At this time it looks as though I’ll ride out in lone-wolf style, by myself and on the route I choose. Riders from the Southwest will converge on Laughlin so at some point in time I will likely see others and we’ll fall in together for the remainder of the run. Anxious anticipation; I am out of my element having worked with youth for so long I’m more at home and more friends with them than any adults even approaching my age. Now I’ll be trying to mingle having been told by my one contact with the ride just to “look for the bad looking bikers in the Casino and start introducing yourself.” I’m committed though, to see PAR through and experience what he might feel going out to find people he doesn’t know, riding his bike to a place he’s only been to with friends and his only love, not on vacation but on a mission. My mission? It is to break out of my normal pattern of sitting back quietly observing the interactions of others and forming my own story for them. Now I need to interact quietly and observe myself meeting new people, interacting with them to find common ground to see what it is God wants for me in the situation. Anticipation has loosened the mooring lines of my mind to the pier that has kept me from running the rapids of writing a story that will lead to uncharted places. That’s a very exposed place to be and I’d rather be in bed.

Saturday the VMC has a group ride with “75 to 100” bikes going somewhere to “have a free lunch”, you know what they say about free lunches, and then come back. Doing a big group ride has been on my list and may find its way into PAR’s future so this is good. I’ve been anticipating riding along with rumbling bikes on the two-lane highway to some cool place to have lunch and hang with new friends, assuming I break out of my introverted cocoon Friday. While many of these folks are going to be bad looking bikers, they are not a hard-bitten motorcycle gang and outlaws and will be providing me with materials for the stories I’ll write and posts I’ll make here. Anticipating is keeping me waitin’ to go back to bed to be ready for a full and busy day at the office. But first, I’m anticipating how I am going to present myself to complete strangers as a man of God, a spiritual person first, and biker way down the list. Tricky that; don’t want to be overtly sanctified and scare them off and don’t want to be of the world so much that I indulge in hypocrisy. Saturday evening there will be the VMC banquet and I should be able to tell if I’ve made friends or alienated people. PAR will be with me; our Lord and most of the folks interested enough to read this will be too. I can sleep on that, “So I'll try and see into your eyes right now…And stay right here 'cause these are the good old days”.