The First Harley Trip, 2014
Part 1: Preparing
“I've had an incredible life. I've worked hard and played
hard. In truth, I've gotten a lot of miles out of this worn-out and banged-up
old body. If it all ended today, I can say with certainty, ‘I’ve definitely got
more than my money's worth out of it.’ “
……….Glenn Lambdin, talking to somebody about something, I just can’t remember
to who, about what, or when.
After
slamming head on with the concept of “15 Summers,” in 2014, at 58 years old, I
decided I needed to start planning my first “15 Summers” adventure. Something
spectacular. Something epic. Something bad-to-the-bone. Something probably so cliché
it couldn’t help but scream out, “mid-life crisis!” So if you will, close your
eyes for a moment and envision Peter Fonda and Dennis Hopper heading down the highway
on their Harley Davidsons, full-on 60’s revolutionary Easy Rider style. And right
about now, by the way, you should also be hearing Steppenwolf’s song “Born to
be Wild” playing in your brain.
In my mind I
was thinking what better way to start my first “15 Summers” adventure than an old-school
Harley Davidson road trip? The kind of road trip with little more than a
sleeping bag and saddlebags strapped to a Harley, hobo coffee first thing in
the morning somewhere out in the middle of Nowhere, and being on a mission to
go out and discover America. Pure iconic Americana….. Pure WTF am I
thinking moment!
This trip
was doable though. After all, I had a sleeping bag and a Harley Sportster. Not
exactly a touring bike but still it was a Harley Davidson, good ol’ American
pig iron.
For the next
few months I started planning my first “15 Summers” trip. First, I went to
Barnes and Noble to purchase a road atlas. Not one of those small compact ones,
but the big kind that takes up way too much room in a saddlebag. Then I started
searching websites that claimed that they and they alone knew the best 100 motorcycle
road trip routes in the western states. I spent hours looking at maps and
destinations. I looked at pictures of mountain passes and coastal vistas that
were must-see places. I charted, plotted, and drew yellow and pink high-lighted
lines and circles all over my maps. Slowly, the trip started to define itself.
Of course being that I would start in Southern California, it was really a no-brainer
to start the trip by riding north up the coast; California’s and Oregon’s Highway
1, one of the most scenic routes in the country.
Now when it
comes to getting advice on motorcycle road trips, I’ve got direct access to the
road trip guru himself, an old school 1%er, Mark “Hotrod” Lambdin, my brother. First
off, when speaking of Hotrod, I’d be a bit remiss if I didn’t make a shameful
plug for his book, From Boy to Biker: My Coming of Age in an Outlaw World“ or his website, Stories
by Hotrod, (http://storiesbyhotrod.com/)
…..Hotrod has more miles, experience, and stories on a Harley than anyone I
know. Buy his book and read it. You’ll see what I mean. …….Hotrod gave me all
the advice I needed about weather conditions, road conditions, road hazards,
animal hazards, tools and gear, must-see places and side trips.
When it came to proper clothing, my life-long friend Brett
Mendez saved my inexperienced ass by giving me his leather jacket and a pair of
leather chaps. Now granted, at first I was very resistant to wearing all of
that leather. I figured with all that leather, I’d look like that one gay dude from the Village People
that wraps himself in leather and shakes his stuff to the song “YMCA” or even
worse like some weekend warrior corporate d-bag wannabe biker poser that never
rides farther than the nearest Starbucks. The jacket was of the highest quality, beautifully
made, and it fit perfectly. I knew the
jacket was needed but that pair of chaps where my ass hung out the back like
some Hollywood stripper’s was pushing my comfort level a bit far. Fortunately,
at the last minute I decided to cram the chaps into the already over-packed
saddlebags…..good thing too! Oh, and BTW, check out Brett Mendez’s blog, http://
A few
weeks before my departure date of May 15, 2014, everything I figured I needed,
I had. Even my entire route was planned. I figured I would ride north up the
coast to central Oregon, head east to visit my brother and sister-in-law in
central Oregon’s high desert, head northeast to visit my dad who I hadn’t seen
in about 8 years, north to Coeur d’
Alene, Idaho, then back home to Sierra Madre.
For a few decades, Hotrod
has been a member of a large well known and respected motorcycle club in the
pacific northwest. Every year on Memorial Day weekend, a chapter in Southern
Idaho hosts the club’s spring opener run. The club rents an entire state park
campground on the Snake River and throws a 4 day all-inclusive party for
members, family, and invited guests. Four days of food, drinks, camping, live rock
and roll and blues music, biker themed games, and amazing comradery. Hundreds
of motorcycles and riders show up from motorcycle clubs from all over the
country. If I remember correctly, there may have been some European club
members there also. For 25 years or so I’ve heard about this spring opener and
always wished I could attend and experience the real deal. Well, the timing was
perfect and Hotrod made it happen.
I probably should mention
that my wife, Liz, is the coolest wife on the planet, actually in the whole
universal galaxy. First off, her support of this trip was so encouraging from
the get-go. I mean, what better thing for me to do while she is soaking up the
sun vacationing on a tropical beach on Kauai’s southshore? Right?......and in
addition to being the coolest wife ever, she is my best friend.
Now Liz is a bona fide dog
lover. Don’t get me wrong, I like dogs too, but someone else’s dog. With our
given lifestyle, I really don’t want the responsibility of dog ownership right
now. Liz on the other hand, would probably disagree. Over the years we’ve
played this game where Liz texts me a picture of some dog, usually some big slobbery
hair-shedding dog, attached with a note that reads, “I need this.” We’ve got a
lot of laughs over these texts. What does that have to do with my trip you
might ask?
Three or so weeks before
my departure, I made the comment that my Sportster really was a small bike and
that it was going to be rough on my back to put on all of those miles. One day during
the week, I also just happened to stop at a Harley Davidson showroom in
Riverside to just have a look. There she was. Perfection. A masterpiece of
design and American ingenuity. The bike I always dreamed of but knew I would
never be willing to fork over the greenbacks to purchase one of her kind. A
2014 Softail Deluxe. The perfect color too. And, old school white wall tires. OMG!
Nothing could ever compare.
Of course, I took a
picture of her and texted it to Liz with the caption, “I need this.” Funny, haha, I cracked me up.
The following Saturday,
Liz asked me if I wanted to go for afternoon coffee at our local Starbucks. I
had just finished a short ride on the Sportster and had it parked in our
driveway, hanging my helmet on the handlebars. As we walked to her car to go get
our coffee, I noticed my helmet was missing. Our neighborhood is very safe and
relatively crime free so I was shocked to think someone in our own neighborhood
would steal my helmet. Actually I was pissed! Oh well, nothing I can do about
it now. Let’s get that coffee.
After ordering our
regular drinks, Liz suggested we go for a ride instead of drinking our coffee
there. “Sure,” I said. “As long as I am no more than an arms distance away from
you.” And off we went on the freeway; towards somewhere that I had no clue. It
was a secret. “Where are we going?” I asked. You’ll see, be patient,” was her
reply. We headed west on the 210 freeway, south on the 2, and off on San
Fernando Blvd. “Hey, Glendale Harley is just up the street,” I mentioned. “Yeah,
Surprise! That’s where we are going. Nobody stole your helmet. I put it in the
trunk. I’m taking you to buy you a new helmet for your trip.” Liz said with
that look that says, “just go with it and don’t give me any grief.”
Once inside the Harley
shop, Liz told me to go pick out a helmet while she looked around. After trying
on several helmets, I decided on a black full-faced Bell. Perfect. Now let’s
pay for this puppy and get on home because I have some UFC fights coming on soon.
I walked back out to the
showroom floor, found Liz, and noticed a fellow approach my wife and say, “Hi
Liz.” WTF. How did this clown know my
wife’s name? He introduced himself to me saying, “Hi, I’m Chris. It sure is
your lucky day.” “Well yes,” I replied,
but was really thinking it’s just a helmet and how do you know my wife’s name? Seeing the puzzled look on my face, Chris look
at me and said, “You don’t know yet do you?” Looking at Liz, she said to me, “See
that softail Deluxe over there with the balloons tied to it and a sold sign
attached to the seat? I bought that for you. It’s exactly like the one you sent
me a text that you said you needed. I had Chris find one and ship it here. You
do like it don’t you? It is what you wanted, right? I hope so because I already
paid for it.” …..I was speechless.
We named her Dorothy
because in the sun, her gas tank sparkles like Dorothy’s ruby-red slippers in
the Wizard of Oz.
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