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Too bad we couldn’t sleep in today. Instead we are all up
early to get Orse’s bike off to the airport. The Honda Africa is still loaded
in the borrowed truck. We all head out and I get a glimpse of Vancouver during
the day. The high-rise apartments strike me first as unique. I wonder if they
have a limited amount of space around here. You have the ocean on one side and
mountains to the North. We reach the airport and find the drop off point for the
bike at Lufthansa Airlines. We unload the bike and set it on the tarmac. That’s
it, they take it from there. It’s that simple. I will have to remember that.
Scott takes us to China Town to check out the sights. We
cruise the strip in Fred’s beat up old pickup truck and then pull in to park.
As we do, Scott sees this young lady and goes straight over and begins to talk
to her. Lucy is a very petite twenty something Asian lady. She is very cute and
a glowing figure. You would think he spotted someone he knew but no, he has
never seen her before. So he introduces the three of us as though the two of
them were dating or something.
"This is Orse from Switzerland, Marty from Pennsylvania,
and Tim is the California Kid." Lucy smiles as though she were required to
do so. Scott strikes me as a real pro and I chuckle remembering the young lady
in Whitehorse on the back of the Harley. We must have seemed like such a motley
crew to her. She seems more bemused that she is the object of so much attention
than scared.
Later after a little sightseeing, Scott spots her again
heading back to where we parked. He trots over to try his luck again. These
thirty-something single guys will chase anything in a skirt. Have to admire his
37-year-old spunk though. We eventually wind up at this 1920’s vintage train
station, which also dubs as the bus station, to see off Orse.
We all sit down for a final meal together. Scott’s eyes
sparkle as he swoons over the young lady he attempted to bedazzle. I order a
full meal but I can barely finish my Chicken Sandwich. My stomach is still a bit
queasy from the day before. I only mention it once but I suppose I could have
said my stomach hurts every half-hour for the whole entire day. We all say our
good-bye’s to Orse and it is like something out of a movie, all these guys
saying goodbye in the middle of the bus station. We wish him good luck with the
lady in Calgary and then it is back to Switzerland for him.
We head downtown to the waterfront and drive through Stanley
Park. It sort of reminds me of Golden Gate Park or even Central Park. It’s
very large, a 1000 acres and hundreds of miles of trails wind through it. There
are beaches, swimming pools, lakes, lagoons and a seawall. Scott says the park
was actually created as a British military reservation to defend against an
American military invasion and was named after Lord Stanley of Preston who was
the Governor General of Canada in the late nineteenth century. When the threat
of invasion ended and everyone became good friends, a park was created around
1887.
We drive by a huge oval, which Scott adds was used as a
bicycle racing track that was used through the 1909’s called the Brockton
Oval. The park was built along the ocean and eventually a seawall was built
around the entire park. The 5.5-mile seawall is now the walking and biking path.
It strikes me as a prime spot for rollarblading. Now there is something I miss,
the physical sweatiness of it. Not much exertion going on in riding a bike like
mine. Near the beach, it’s called Coal Harbour because early explorers found
coal lining the shores. We head back to Maple Ridge in the early afternoon and
stop by Fred’s house to return the truck.
Scott introduces the two of us. I am the guy from California
that’s been on the road for the last month or so and Marty is the guy from
Pennsylvania that’s been on the road for the last month or so. Everyone is so
exceedingly nice to us. I spend the next hour refusing lunch offered to me from
Fred’s plump wife. Marty digs in as if it were his last meal. I think they
would’ve given us anything if we asked for it. There is food everywhere and
Fred insists we eat. I still decline. I have barely eaten anything in the last
two days.
Later that evening back at Scott’s place, Scott cooks
dinner like the end of the world is tomorrow. Marty and Scott chow away at steak
and pesto noodles. I nibble at my meal as we all just chat away about our
travels. I tell them about the crash and Scott shares one of his.
He was rounding a corner in the mountains outside Vancouver
and was a little too close to the centerline. A truck came the other way and hit
his left arm and tore it up. The doctors told him if he hadn’t been wearing a
heavy leather jacket, the truck could have tore his arm right off. Not a bad
story. I can’t top that so I call it a day.
Marty is an interesting guy. He has short brown hair, a
mustache and a slim build. He is in his late twenties and I am very curious as
to why he is traveling. He says it is just in his blood. He has been doing this
for several years. Those 74,000 on the Harley are all in three years. When he’s
in Pennsylvania, he works for awhile, gets restless, then leaves for three
months. Then he comes back and works like the rest of the world 9 to 5. He says
he even has a girlfriend, which I have tremendous difficulty understanding how
any woman could put up with a loner like this.
So looking back, Marty has been all over North America in the
last few years. He always starts out alone. Usually hooks up with someone like
Orse, and travels with them for while, parts ways, then rides on alone until he
finds someone else.
Remembering Mark, he also said he was married three years. I
remember looking at him in disbelief. "She knew what I am about and what
she was getting into," was his reply. It makes me wonder if someday I will
have a spouse too that will like motorcycling or hate it. I just hope I’ll be
blessed with someone who’ll tolerate my obsessive nature when it comes to
motorcycling. I suppose my dream is she’ll want to come with me like the
couple in Tok on the BMW Paris Dakar.
Sunday, August 7 Day 22
Marty leaves early in the morning. He is eager to hit the
road and thankful to Scott for the hospitality. I look over the motorcycle and
notice that the tires I have been watching slowly wear away, have finally wore
all the way through. I can see the cords.
Today is Sunday and Scott heads out to get stuff done so I
have the day to myself. I am stuck here though. I am hesitant to ride on the
worn tires. I would like to explore Vancouver, but decide not to. Today is
Sunday, and I decide to relax by taking in an afternoon matinee. Sometimes it
feels good to not be riding. The whole day is just kickback. Late in the
afternoon Scott returns and we head over to a buddy’s house on the bikes.
The guy’s name is Porkchop and I feel like I'm on the
cover of Biker Magazine. Porkchop has this rather round belly and wears a
leather vest with lots of patches on it. Behind the house is a garage in the
backyard that is a tribute-like shrine to Harley Davidson. There are posters up
everywhere and Harley parts attached to the walls.
Several other guys are there and every one is talking about
bikes. There are two more Harley’s in the driveway besides Scott’s. I join
in the conversation and everyone is pretty nice. Although I wouldn’t use the
word "nice" out loud around these guys. They are interested in both
Scott’s trip to Whitehorse and my world travels. Sometimes, being a Marine
helps as everyone assumes things about you. Everyone seems to accept me
instantly when they see the jacket with the all the military patches. I still
feel a bit out of place.
Monday, August 8 Day 23
On a quest to find tires. I borrow the yellow pages from
Scott and start calling all the motorcycle dealers. I find a pair at
International Cycle and ride on over. After I visually make sure they have the
tires in stock, I start taking the bike apart in the parking lot. Up on the
centerstand, I take out my tools and unbolt the rear tire. Having a shaftdrive
motorcycle is a blessing. There is no chain to fiddle with. I pull the rear tire
off and hand it over to the mechanic. He swaps the tire and hands it back to me.
Then the front tire comes next.
While I am waiting, I walk through the showroom inside and
discover the coolest leather jacket I have ever seen. In all my years of
motorcycling, I have yet to buy a cool biker jacket with all the armor and
pockets. A leather jacket that weighs like five pounds. I have one passed on to
me from my older brother that is a pretty hard core biker jacket but I didn’t
even bring that along. The jacket is $475 Canadian and I can’t get past the
price or the 14% sales tax. I don’t have that kind of money and I just put the
new tires on the bike. This entire trip is still on a shoestring. Which is sort
of related to why I have been sleeping in ditches, military bases, and anywhere
I can sneak in and out of. I pass it up knowing I will regret it for the rest of
my motorcycling days. When the deal comes along, the rule is you always seize
it.
Pulling out of the parking lot, I am careful to ease the bike
out onto the road. New tires have a slippery coating on them, and when you first
ride the motorcycle, you can slide the front or spin the rear tire very easily
until the coating wears off which only takes a few minutes. Riding back to Scott’s,
it’s as if I am riding a whole new motorcycle, new tires are like that. They
are very rounded and in the turns, you can flick the bike back and forth with
ease. The bike is much less of an effort to lean in the turns.
I want to leave. I am getting restless. It is 3:30 in the
afternoon and I go for a short ride on the motorcycle. I ride all the way back
past Coquitlam to Mission. I am not sure why. I just wanted to ride.
The Langley Valley is a beautiful place. Mountains stick up
in the horizon only a few miles away. It has been raining a lot up here at
night. Then during the day, it clears up some. They even have the most beautiful
clouds here. Huge tall billowing clouds clinging to mountainsides.
We go to Fred’s for dinner. This time I know my appetite
has returned and they offer mounds of food. We have spaghetti and it is so
spicy, it burns my lips off, but it is very good. Everybody watches Cheers.
We watch Flashdance afterwards. It’s like one big family. Still, TV
seems intensely boring to me compared to rocketing through some mountainous
curves. I am getting restless. I want to leave.
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