I hate flying. Just the thought of it fills me with dread. My current ‘favorite’ airline could easily change their slogan from ‘We love to fly and it shows’ to ‘We’re not happy until you’re not happy.’ Getting into a gigantic metal tube in one place, sitting for hours in a cramped and uncomfortable seat designed by evil monks to extract maximum torture, then getting out in a completely different place, all without having seen or experienced anything is more than enough to make anyone feel a little anxious, never mind the delays and all too typical lost luggage. For the second year in a row, my riding buddy Abi, my girlfriend Fiona and I decided to do something about it, by taking some time off to get on the highways and back roads and ride across the country.

On that part of the trip we rode through pouring rain and desert heat. I have to say she’s a hell of a trooper, because she never once complained, and the Hayabusa passenger seat is definitely complaint worthy. After that trip we decided that a more comfortable sport touring motorcycle would be a good idea. With a somewhat heavy heart, I traded my beloved Hayabusa in for a brand new Yamaha FJR 1300, which would soon become our weekend getaway machine. In the first year, Fiona and I put well over 10,000 fantastic and fun miles on that bike.

Besides being coworkers, Abi and I have been riding together since 2003. Our first long ride, a month after he got his motorcycle license, was from RI to South Boston, VA, with Abi riding his Honda Shadow, me on ‘Stormbringer,’ my Harley Heritage Softail. Two years later we decided we’d commute to work one week, from Rhode Island to Little Rock, Arkansas – a 3300 mile round trip. Abi’s current ride, a 2004 BMW 1150R Rockster, received its nickname ‘Fireball’ on that trip. Stuck in New York City’s never ending traffic, Abi suddenly swerved to the side of the highway. Not sure what happened, I pulled off too. Running back to him, I was sure I couldn’t have heard him correctly. “Did he just say fire?” Sure enough he did. Smoke was wafting up from someplace in the middle of his motorcycle. We managed to douse the small fire with our water bottles, and the rest of the trip was less eventful.

Since then, we’ve ridden over 20,000 miles together, to less ambitious places like Washington, DC, and more ambitious trips like Baja California and across the US, from RI to California last October. Upon finishing that epic ride, Abi moved to a brand new house in Orlando. His beloved Fireball stayed in California with Fiona and I for the past year. We gave him ample visitation rights.

Finally settled in Orlando, Abi wanted to reunite with Fireball, and Fiona and I wanted to take our new Yamaha for a long run, and the idea for our second cross country ride, from California to Orlando was born, the time frame – two weeks later – was decided on, and planning began. The planning stages of these trips fill me with a different kind of dread. Not to say that in the weeks before we leave I’m not excited, but the huge distances, time constraints and of course the ever present danger of journeying by motorcycle all weigh on me until sometimes I just want to cancel the trip. However, as soon as we suit up, saddle up and pull out of the driveway, all that pent-up dread instantly disappears, and I know we’re doing the right thing.

Now, on to the story!

Day 1

Covina, CA to Quartzsite, AZ – 228 Miles

Since Abi and I flew in from Chicago and Fiona had worked all the previous night, this day was really to get paced and prepared. Any miles put in would get us closer to our first goal of Sedona, Arizona, though technically we didn’t have to start until the next day. As excited as we were, there was no way we were going to just sit around. Our trip finally got underway around 3 PM, and we soon settled into the rhythm of the road. We watched in awe as a huge harvest moon rose over the highway. Hundreds of trailer trucks receded in the distance as we sped toward the Arizona border. About an hour after the moon rose we stopped for the night in a Super 8 motel in Quartzsite, AZ.

As near as I can figure, the town of Quartzsite exists for two reasons. Number one – to fuel trucks and feed truckers, and number two – to make people passing through glad they are from somewhere else.

Larry, the Super 8 night manager was an older guy with sad eyes, faded sailor tattoos on his arm and one lone tooth sticking out of his bottom lip. As we checked in, I wondered what turns Larry’s life had taken to lead him to manage a hotel in Quartzsite. Judging solely by appearances, it seemed Larry had led a rough life sometime in the past, but had turned his life around and was pretty happy about it now. A sign on the wall said the Super 8 was independently owned by the Wong family. As we were checking in, we could hear Mrs. Wong firing off volleys of rapid fire Chinese from somewhere in the back. Larry laughed at one particularly manic outburst. “I never can tell if she’s yelling me or happy or what.” Check in was again interrupted by a guest calling the front desk. Larry listened a moment, then replied, “No, sorry ma’am, this hotel doesn’t carry the Playboy channel.” He shrugged his shoulders and laughed again. “Sometimes this job is just nuts.”

Of the two restaurants in town, we chose American cuisine over Irish, mostly because Burger King™ was closer than McDonald’s™. We had a forgettable first night meal in a generic restaurant in a truck stop town, and swore off food chain conglomerates for the remainder of the trip.

Back at the Super 8, the three of us properly celebrated the start of our trip with a few Coronas in the parking lot. A younger kid carrying an open can of Keystone Light and wearing a black t-shirt with ‘Get Lucky’ printed across the front came over. He appeared a bit hyper, but it turned out he was just excited to have new people to talk to.

With a swig of Keystone Light, Rich started off, “When they told me about this job, my first question was what is there to do at night. They told me Quartzsite had Rock Shows. I was like, cool! Rock Shows! Are they like local bands or what? They looked at me all confused when I asked that. Bands? No dumbass, rocks, like quartz and shit. I knew it was gonna suck here after that.”

His job was with a construction company building sidewalks for the town. He and the sidewalk crew worked five days in Quartzsite, then went home for two. This pattern continued for six straight weeks, until the first half of the project was complete, then, mercifully they had a break. After their break, they’d come back to the sad little town and put sidewalks on the other side of the street. Earlier, we’d seen some of their work in front of Burger King™.

“The only thing we’ve found to do so far,” said Rich, “is some kind of English pub right in town, with a bartender that talked like – real Scottish and everything. That guy talked fast, he was like ‘Hlaarg Herr Glarg Blarggh?‘ I didn’t understand a damn thing that guy said all night. I never heard nobody talk like that except in movies.”

Right then a few of his construction buddies appeared. He asked them where they’d been. As they walked past us one of them said with a giggle, “We been out spelunkin’.” The Giggling Spelunker noticed we were drinking beer in the parking lot and said, “Yeah, don’t let the hotel people see you drinking beer in their parking lot. Trust me, they’ll call the CC on you.”

I had to ask. “The CC?”

“Yeah, you know, the Quartzsite Cops!” That spelunkin’ is dangerous business. We quickly drained our illicit beers and decided to call it a night.

Fiona and I soon drifted off to sleep, only to be woken up some time later by a loud CHIRP!

“Wha… What was that?”

“I dunno.”

CHIRP!

“There it was again!”

Finally we traced it to the smoke alarm. The battery must have been dying, emitting a mournful CHIRP every minute or so as it expired.

I climbed up on the bureau, twisted the cover off and removed the battery. “There. That should do it.”

As soon as I climbed off the bureau I heard it again. CHIRP! “What the hell?” I climbed back up and removed the cover again. Figures. The damn thing was also wired into the building.

I called the front desk to explain the problem. Larry said he’d be right down.

Larry arrived with stepladder in hand and quickly assessed the problem. “Well that’s no good. I’ll fix it.” He climbed his ladder, grabbed the smoke alarm with both hands and ripped it off the ceiling, leaving a few hanging bare wires in the hole where the alarm was. “There, that should fix it. Now you can get some sleep. Good night.” As Larry took the possessed alarm out of the room, it issued one final CHIRP!

We were lulled back to sleep by the sounds of hundreds of trucks we’d passed earlier in the day roaring past our hotel in an endless drone of interstate commerce.

Link to Day Two

Author: frenchy

One Response to “Cross Country 2.0 – Day 1”

1. Anonymous says:

   November 17, 2007 at 2:52 PM

   I want to go next time! What an awesome trip!!

   Congrats on a safe and successful cross-country.

   Reply