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.