ATGATT

Photo of a photo my Grandma Matt took in their yard at Bass Lake,
near to the campground I took those kids around. STICK1 and me near
the end of a 4-week, 4k+ mile ride and a year before this story took place.

I was 19 and knew nothing while living moment-to-moment believing I wouldn’t live past 22. The Viet Nam War may have played a part in that belief even though by then I’d escaped the draft by luck of the lottery. I was coming out of my dark days and trying to figure what the long play of God’s plan was for me since my dream of playing Division II basketball, possibly at Humboldt State, had crumbled like a sand castle built too close to the surf.

I worked weekends during the school year and full-time over the summer as a pier coolie at Paradise Cove to pay for community college plus gas and upkeep on my Honda CB500. I lived in my friend’s family trailer up in the park from the cove and on any given weekend Doug and I would have breakfast at 5:30 a.m. at the Sandcastle Restaurant before working our 10-hour shift on the pier running personal fishing boats up and down the pier, launching them and the fiberglass rentals via the hoist at the end of the pier opposite the Baywatch hut. The uniform of the day was deck shoes, swimsuit, Hawaiian Coconut Tanning Oil, and maybe a tank-top.

The trailer park, pier, and restaurant were run by a guy everyone called The Commodore. I don’t think he owned the place but you wouldn’t have known it by him. Bob ran the bait and rental shop out on the pier and was our boss. Doug, Rob, and I were the three-man team running the hoist and taking care of the outboards and fiberglass boats during weekends. Chuck was the head of maintenance for the whole shebang and was a known alcoholic, a man of dubious mental stability.

Living moment-to-moment left me vulnerable to swings in my temperament and I was far from what I’ve become – patient and even tempered, even if a bit stern and surely.

During a particular day of the summer of ’73 Chuck had come down from his yard up on the bluff to repair a metal railing on the ramp that led to the loading area and launch dock. Lit as he was on this early afternoon, he pulled his arch-welder out. I was tasked to assist him and held the two railing pieces together that need to be welded. I felt a charge run through me when he flipped the power to ‘on’. I let go and looked at the idiot happy he didn’t try to arch the railing. He pulled over a dry (ish) pier plank and told me to stand on it to insulate myself. Flip – buzz – and I let go again. I told him he’d kill somebody and left him to himself. I was not too happy with the man.

That evening after the pier shut down the younger crowd gathered around one of the picnic tables between the restaurant and the set for The Rockford Files. And by younger I mean little teens I needed to be careful around, me being an adult teen. I had my bike with me in the parking lot which was posted not to allow motorcycles (much different than today). It was after hours, okay? Chuck turned up reeling and stinking drunk with a handgun stuck in his waistband. He ordered me out of the lot all belligerent like and posing for the kids. My recollection is that he chest-bumped me while he kept a hand on the butt of his gun. I probably could have taken him down gun and all but some reason prevailed and I left.

I was in a rage when I got on the bike; no gloves, no helmet, no goggles or jacket. I raced up the entrance road to the PCH and headed north leaving reason behind with my friend. By the time I hit Zuma Beach I was zoned. The last I’d looked at the speedo I was near 90 mph. A second or two later my eyelids flipped up to my brows and reason took over again.

Since then and to this day I’ve not ridden without my helmet and gear with the exception of second-gear rides around a campground with a kid on the back wearing my helmet. How close was I to self-fulfilling a prophecy of dying before 22? Close enough.

The point is this, or rather, points are these:

Œ  All The Gear All The Time (ATGATT)

Œ  Check your mood and emotional well-being before turning over the engine

Œ  Know the roads and your capabilities at the start of the ride, don’t learn them during the ride. You will improve and live and live to improve.

Œ  Be vigilant

Ride and ride safe – let’s keep the iron side up, shall we?

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

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PS – just now I am recalling a time that puts a lie to the notion that since that day I hadn’t ridden without a helmet with the one exception. It was during my second life as a rider and I had just checked into McGrath State Beach campground with a day pass to visit friends camping there. I road from the kiosk to their camp space with my helmet on the passenger backrest of my Honda VT1100. My friend reminded me that the helmet law applied to state park roads as well.

When I got home that evening I pulled into the garage to park the bike. I didn’t get the kickstand down all the way and it slid under the bike as I leaned it over and the doggone thing threw me into the workbench where I knocked my helmet against the table leg. You don’t even have to be moving to need a helmet while on a bike. At least I don’t. And, I guess, we all need reminders for important things.

Une Sortie, Déjeuner Pour Trois - New Year's Day 2020

Une Sortie, Déjeuner Pour Trois

New Year’s Day 2020

Tradition held on by its finger tips for New Year’s Day in 2019 and a group ride was held with a destination well south of my usual ride and we lunched at the Coyote Bar and Grill in Carlsbad as opposed to Duke’s in Malibu.

Tradition lost out altogether this year and no group ride was planned that I could see and I didn’t do anything much to help with that. It appears I’m more comfortable riding sweep or in the middle of the pack and writing about it. I hadn’t ridden in a while so I planned a solo (une) ride out (sortie) to Duke’s. I geared up for a chilly ride but not so cold that I had to power up my new electric socks. I decided to head up Highway 5 and over Rte. 126 to Fillmore so I could pick up Rte. 23 and ride south to the Pacific Coast Highway.

It was a fine crisp and sunny day for a ride but I was a bit melancholy for my friends and especially Tim who has been off the bike for so long I can’t remember when last we rode together. His body just has not responded as we’d like to the corrective surgeries. His pain is my pain. Tim has been the ride planner I’ve most relied on and I’m the poorer for his absence. My frequent prayers are for him to return to good health.

Once the technical part of the ride started on the 23 my thoughts were consumed with keeping a good tight line through the canyon roads and along the twisties, and there are plenty of both sandwiched around the brief portion where the Highway 101 and the 23 are merged. I had Pandora playing through my headset and there was a lot of good riding tunes from the CCR radio channel. The Pacific Ocean gleamed like a lover’s eye when he spots his inamorata. (as in Tim for Bev, Jed for Sue, Kevin for Jeannie, Aaron for Lupe, Keith for Karen, Shawn for Danielle…) Funny thing about those parenthesized riding couples I know, the gleams are two-way all the way and here’s a little prayer for them and other readers: May God bring you ever closer, may you find new facets to love in each other, and may you have good health and peace.

The morning ride down to Duke’s was wide open with the majority of people on the road being other enthusiasts; bicyclists, walkers, and motorists of all kinds. We shared the lanes nicely, thank you very much. Heading down the PCH and past former haunts (I worked on the Paradise Cove pier for a year and a half) gave me crystal clear views of waves on beaches backed by cliffs. I was restored and refreshed for my new year.

I have to confess that I had been holding on to some hope that I would find a friend at Duke’s, a fellow rider or two that had the same notion as I did though I had some grave reservations about crashing anyone’s party. The parking lot attendant waved me on by and over to the motorcycle parking area where I saw three bikes already leaning into their stands. The first thing I really saw was Walter’s head, Walter being the grumpy old puppet and curmudgeon supreme created by Jeff Dunham. I was so struck by the humor of this sight that I nearly dropped my Cross Country right there. I believe it goes like this - Tim had won Walter in a raffle during a Ride for Guides charity event and gifted him to Jed and I think there were performance tickets involved and now Walter accompanies Jed.

In any case, I struck gold and parked StickII next to Sue’s nearly identical Cross Country. There is a conduciveness to joy with many of the riders I run with and Jed and Sue exemplify that trait. I found them sitting at a table outside by the glass wall overlooking the waves. Jed was sitting with his back to me and it took a few seconds for him to turn around when he saw the look on Sue’s face when she saw me walking toward them.

There is a moment at times like this when someone first sees you that almost defies description, the pure joy on the other's face at seeing you pierces your heart with a very special arrow from Eros. He has special bolts for each; the lover, the family member, and the good friend. All my reservations about crashing a party were melted away and we moved to a table for two with three chairs whereupon another couple moved to Jed and Sue’s table on the water and we then took their seats at a table for four with three chairs. The poor wait staff handled the confusion with good humor and alacrity.

Our lunch was filled with wide-ranging talks about close calls with fires, blessed holidays, trips we’d like to make, friends we want to see more of (couldn’t think of anyone we want to see less of), and how in retirement both Jed and I thought we would ride more and not less. I turned over 50,000 miles on the way up Highway 1 at Trancas Canyon Road. When I got this beauty 10 years ago I thought I’d have had about half again as many miles by now. Ah well.

So my solo New Year’s Day ride turned into Lunch for Three (Déjeuner Pour Trois) and I couldn’t have been more happy with it. Well okay, maybe if two or three or six or ten of you others could have been there then I would have been happier.

The Irish have one of the best blessings ever and this is my 2020 wish for you all:

May the road rise up to meet you.

May the wind be always at your back.

May the sun shine warm upon your face;

the rains fall soft upon your fields

and until we meet again,

may God hold you in the palm of His hand

Jerry ‘Shakespeare’ White

Postscript notes: of my 200 miles, the sweetest were riding sweep behind Jed and Sue up the Pacific Coast Highway…

STICKII turns 50,000 miles

From Highway 23

The law was out too....

Heading south and solo