Archive for March 9th, 2015|Daily archive page

Sunday, on the run from many things . . .

Bikers on long rides know that, like life, keeping things where they belong is a constant struggle. I'm only sharing the following incident because of the connection to long rides. Plus, I do believe there's a Zen like metaphor buried in the following incident . . . somewhere. I'm just not sure how to unpack it.

So, after a great sleep in a great location for a great price I was refreshed and ready to hit the road at daybreak. As every rider knows, you can misplace almost anything except your keys (at this point, my wife will stop reading). I diligently packed everything and attached my luggage on the bike, all that was left was to lock the bags in place. With a key. Which is necessary. So the bags don't fall off.

No key. Okay it's a small room it must be somewhere. I went back in the room and, as my wife would say, I gave it the man-look. No key. I went outside and looked at the fully packed and almost ready to ride bike and went back inside to look in the room again. No key. So, it must be packed on the bike somewhere, never done that before but there's always a first time. I unpacked the most obvious case, then unpacked all the little bags inside the the obvious case. Nothing. Then I did the same with the other bag. Nothing. I put it all together again (sun has risen now) and searched the room again. Nope.

Okay, I must have missed something, I searched the grounds, all my clothes for a third time, around the bike, the walkway. I even glanced up at the coconut trees. Nothing left to do but unpack everything again (sun keeps doing its thing) and rip everything apart in a a barely controlled rage. Nothing. Back to the room (did they somehow fall in the toilet) back to the bike (under a tire?) the room (on top of the bloody fan?) and back to the bike. Zero.

At this point (sun's blazing hot) I decide that I just have to admit that the key is gone. I rig up a strap so the bag doesn't fall off, look at it and suppress a whimper. But I don't cry, just sweat and sigh and get suited up to go. To put my helmet on I flip off my hat and it happens. The damn keys were in the hat and now they're on top of my freakin' head!

I really have no idea, but surely there is a Zen metaphor there somewhere – keys? A deeper message about life? Needless to say, I ain't wasting my time to figure it out, and you've wasted enough time already reading this …

As for the ride today, it was another mixture of beautiful scenes, and horrendous winds. I once read that the winds of the Sierra Madre de Sur can be unreal, and now I can verify the rumor. A lot of trucks were pulled over and the bike was like a bucking horse. The mountains themselves looked like giant malevolent brilliant red coals hurling heat.

At one point I pulled over and, as habit has it, I secured my helmet on the mirror. It blew off like a peak cap, breaking the side of the visor; I may have to pull a Red Green and “fix it” with duct tape. Once again my fear made me neglect a photo, but then again, wind isn't the easiest thing to snap.

Anyway, I plan to be in Guatemala Monday or early the next day. I have little experience with Central American border crossings And zero experience crossing with a motorcycle. I expect it's not like doing the fast-track at Disney World. Wish me luck . . . .