This article was actually written in late-2010, shortly after my move to California. Regrettably, I ended up moving back to Las Vegas six months later. It is a re-post for someone who requested to read it.
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After a couple days recouping from the physical and emotional toll of my move, it was time to put the Redline Cruiser back together. The soreness of the previous day was pretty much gone, and I was anxious to get my blood flowing a little bit again.
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After a couple days recouping from the physical and emotional toll of my move, it was time to put the Redline Cruiser back together. The soreness of the previous day was pretty much gone, and I was anxious to get my blood flowing a little bit again.
It’s definitely time for a full tear-down and rebuild on her... but I don’t quite have the supplies for it right now... solvent, grease, and a couple allen key sizes. Regardless, she’s not too bad. After telling my roommate that this old Indian still has a decent sense of direction, I set out in what I thought was the direction of the beach.
The bike and my legs all felt good so far. As I turned off of my street onto Monrovia and then a quick right on 19th, I immediately noticed the difference of being in California. Lush greens everywhere... the perfect time of year to be here. I looked for those really cool purple trees, but I haven’t seen any around here yet. There was even landscaping decorating the city-owned street signs and light poles… usually a bland sight around Las Vegas.
I’m sure I have to brush up on some etiquette with the local laws and riding around other riders, but so far it certainly looks like a much more bike-friendly area. Of course, most laws governing things like bicycles are usually written by those who haven’t ridden a bike in decades, if ever. I stretch a lot of those laws and “rules” to the limit, and sometimes way beyond, because riding a bicycle on streets such as Maryland Parkway in Las Vegas is a suicide mission, and survival often means breaking a rule or two.
I’m very thankful that I can still ride as well as I did as a much younger BMX racer, albeit with a little less stamina (it should improve, living here…), because it’s saved my life on many occasions through the years. The ability to clear curbs and center dividers in a split second when cars come out of nowhere is a handy skill to have at times.
I cruised down 19th, picking up speed as the road began to decline. I noticed some looseness in my cranks, but not so bad that I couldn’t make it back, but it didn’t matter because I didn’t even care so much about my direction anymore... it was a really cool ride. I could see a right-angle turn coming up down the road, and I checked the traffic situation. I was alone, and the other side of the turn gave me a good view of what was coming... nothing!
I tucked down into a racing stance, drifted to the left, and dove into the corner... cutting into the right lane with no loss of speed… all the while in awe of the wilderness to my left. I realized half way through the turn that it was actually a small slope descending into a tree-filled valley, which made it even cooler!
As I cruised down the other side of the turn, I noticed a sign stating that the road now turned into the driveway of a condo or apartment complex. I cruised through the main street of the complex, enjoying the greenery and the cool air hitting me. Actually, it was considered quite warm my California standards, but where am I from again? To me, it was nice and cool...
Coming to the end of one of the driveways, there was a steep dirt trail leading off into what looked like a forest. I decided to get off the bike and walk to enjoy this part of it... (okay, I lacked both the momentum and the stamina to get up the hill at that moment).
Once at the top, it led through about a hundred yards of woodland and appeared to come out in another part of the complex, so I jumped back on the bike and continued on. I began to get flashbacks of riding a bike through Upsalla, Sweden… loaned to me by my friend and musical mate, Olof. Sometimes I was on my own, and I would explore the trails you find all over Sweden, leading through the forests that surround and flow through the towns and cities. Even in Stockholm, a large city, I could step out of my friend Derrick’s flat, and go walking through the woods, along a creek or small river, and coming out in another part of Stockholm on the other side.
I came off the trail onto a driveway, still in the same complex, or so it appeared. I began looking for a way out, for a moment considering another trail leading into more woods. Ah... I’ll explore that one next time. I caught a glimpse of a car driving across an intersection up ahead at a higher rate of speed, which usually indicates a thoroughfare leading to a major street, and going in the direction that I still thought was the beach. Exhilarated from this ride so far, I used the momentum I lacked for the previous hill and sprinted up the incline to the street and coasted left, and found myself on a residential street. I continued to cruise along, enjoying the ride, when I suddenly felt the sensation of familiarity.
Last time I was here to visit my now-roommate, I noticed the house across the street getting a new driveway put in. While I was putting my bike together earlier today, I noticed the unusual diagonal seam pattern they put in the driveway. Well... there it was. Out of the hundreds of possible direction I could have gone during that ride, I was on my street... riding by the house I now live in. At first, I just stopped right in the middle of the street in front of my house, laughing at the fact I just made a big circle and I have no idea how. I had to get on Bing Maps and pull up the area to figure out where I went. I found the turn (where W 19th turns into Balboa), and the complex it leads into, but I have no idea where the damn trail was that led me back to my street.
I considered riding on, but the looseness in my cranks is something I would rather take care of first since I’m back home. I just have to find the right size wrench. I’ll look for that trail again next time, and check out a few others. I definitely have a lot of exploring to do, and inspired by the travel writings of Neil Peart, I’ll do what I can to make it interesting enough to write about.
Aside from the immortal music he creates with his bandmates in Rush, Mr. Peart is a brilliant author. With the itch to write, but not really knowing what to write about for a long time, he finally found a niche in travel writing, beginning with a 1996 book about a bicycle trip through Africa in 1988 called “The Masked Rider.” His second effort was unfortunately a very sad one, “Ghost Rider,” which captured his travels during a five year hiatus from his life after the deaths of his wife and daughter. By this time, he began to receive much critical acclaim for his writing. The success of “Ghost Rider” pushed “The Masked Rider” back into print, and it continues to do well.
His third, “Traveling Music,” follows him through a road trip in his car, and discusses the music that influenced his life and his own music, as well as the music he likes to expose people to during the pre-show and intermissions. Few people know that when you sit down to a Rush concert and you’re waiting for the band, the selection of music you’re listening to was created by Neil himself, and many of those sometimes obscure songs have very deep meaning to him.
His last, and my favorite, is “Roadshow,” in which he details his daily routines and adventures as he travels from show to show by motorcycle. The way he describes passing through towns and cities, through wilderness, occasional breakdowns, and a few mob scenes when his identity is discovered… it’s amazing to read, and very inspiring to write… so I will!
To quote Mr. Peart… “adventures suck when you’re having them,” and it was never more true than with my recent, rather sudden exodus from Las Vegas to Orange County. There were a few rough spots and tense moments when I wasn’t sure I was going to be able to pull this off… and a couple of the people closest to me who I thought would be there during my last few hours in Vegas…weren’t. Numbing some of the pain, however, was that fact that others were, and in a big way.
“Adventures” like this often suck at the time they’re happening due to the sometimes difficult circumstances leading up to it, when it’s unexpected or much sooner than planned, the emotional toll, the physical exertion of packing and moving, and the move itself. Then of course, there’s unpacking, and trying to develop some sense of normality, even though in some cases, normality as you knew it is part of what you moved to get away from. Times like this are difficult, but when looked back on, they usually become valuable memories… even thought of as “fun and exciting.”
The fact that much of my life has built up to this moment, it certainly was fun and exciting at times, but some of this adventure will hurt to remember… namely the two people who probably know me better than anybody, who both chose to turn away… having some sort of problem with me doing what I’ve been wanting to do for so long. But others rose to the occasion, offering their support, encouragement, and even congratulations on making this move. Thank you to all of them, both near and far… and especially the ones who extended their hand and made it possible for me to do this at what was the perfect time considering recent events in my life.
So, I will continue to offer my commentary of my explorations in my new home… and hopefully some will find them interesting. I certainly have a lot of riding to do, and considering that Mr. Peart… at 58 years young… finds the energy to do it hours after playing an entire Rush concert (he still does it by motorcycle now, but used a bicycle well into his late 40’s), I have absolutely no excuse. But let’s hope as well that this old Indian with the great sense of direction will at least make it to the beach next time!
