Ride 1,200 Miles to Lunch
Riding a Harley Across America
My father and step-mother used to live in Fremont IN, precisely where one might exit east Interstate 80 to head south on Interstate 69. So if I were to visit my parents, his house was a natural first or last destination, because it is a literal drive-by, stop-in deal.
Answering Phones While Riding
Why? I have never done it. I don’t answer my phone when I’m not riding, why would I want to answer it while riding? I keep my phone in the trunk, and it’s not hooked up to my helmet. If someone needs me, they can wait until I return home. If they want to reach me during the trip, they can leave me a message. I sometimes reply within 24 hours.
Riding Across the Promise Land
I’ve twice ridden across the vast flat prairie to visit my parents: Denver CO to Fremont / Fort Wayne IN. I would do it more often, except somebody engineered Nebraska and Iowa to be very wide, and then dropped Illinois in there for added delight, and because absence really does make the heart grow fonder.
The first trip I vaguely mentioned to my father months in advance that I would be heading his way sometime during the first part of August, just to make sure he would be around. He must have made a note of it, because he guessed the travel dates and once I headed out, he started dropping me voice messages every two hours, beginning in Nebraska, inquiring when I would arrive. Of course in the evening when I returned his calls, I did my best to resist telling him a precise time, because I wanted to quit riding when I wanted to quit and I wanted to depart when I wanted to depart, and I didn’t want to be held to a schedule. “Anyway, you’re retired, what does it matter?” Nope. Leonard and Mae needed a time. Not just a day, a time. Of course, I can tell this story now because he doesn’t remember any of it.
Noon on Monday? Is that good for you?
I resisted committing until about half way across Iowa and then said something like, “I don’t know a precise time, but I suppose it will be mid-day Monday. Don’t worry about making any arrangements, I’ll go to town first and pick up a pizza and some beer on the way in.”
He replied, “So mid-day? Is that noon?”
“Dad, I don’t know precisely. I have to get a haircut this morning and I don’t know precisely how long that will take. I have to go through a couple of stop lights on the way. I don’t know if they will be red or green. I’ll be heading through Chicago during rush hour and that might be a factor.”
“Okay, I’ll let Mae know.”
As soon as I hang up, I muttered, “F@ck, f#ck, f&ck!@@#$&^@#%$^.”
The obvious happens, it starts raining like shit in western Illinois and I keep riding through it, so I won’t be late. Chicago traffic is a bitch. I speed on the toll road to make up for the lost time, but still don’t arrive until 12:42. My father meets me in the driveway and informs me that Mae has had lunch ready for half an hour and I’m late. Really?
Cloning Your Mistakes
A few years later, same deal, except this time I don’t tell them I’m coming. Really, where will they be but home? I figure I’ll wait until I’m a couple hours out and then call. If he’s available great, if not, I’ll just head to Fort Wayne, check into a hotel, let everybody know I’m in town, and sort out a schedule that works for everybody. Nope, not happening. Somehow my sister gets wind of the trip and decides it just wouldn’t be fair to Mae for me not to call ahead. She narks me out and my father starts calling again as I travel through Iowa–EXACTLY THE SAME RESULT. Damn!