A road for some blues.

There's nothing like a long hard ride, to clear your mind of a long hard time.

Early Bird.

     This morning is my second to last day in LA for a while.  I had spent Monday and Tuesday in San Diego, then took the long road, nice and slow, making it up to Los Angeles by 6pm to do some skating with friends.  Early this morning when I woke up with the sun shining and the wind on my arms, I decided to hit all those Los Angeles hilltops that had been intriguing me for as long as I'd looked out on them.  They were the eastern hills and I'd never been into those neighborhoods before.  So without the modern technology of a map that I usually reference to get where I want to go, I just went.  I went towards my goals and explored those neighborhoods and hills.  Winding around the narrow streets admiring the cozy houses, scanning for any hilltop opportunity, I could see just how much culture there was.  It's predominantly hispanic.  Chickens and chihuahuas litter the landscape.  I took any and every neat old dirt roads winding canyon sides.  I once asked a large gal walking her small chihuahua if the dirt road split I was on was the one that reached the crest, she said in a friendly manner "Yes, we call that 'Flat Top' and you don't want to go up there at night." The look on her face indicated it gets pretty sketchy up there.  I gave her a "thanks" and I was back dodging large rocks and potholes, on this sunbaked dirt road.  I rounded a sharp bend and ascended along the ridge I was hoping for, the Los Angeles panoramic view off to my left.  To my right was the large modern house on the hill, boarded windows behind industrial chain-link fence.  Looks like an abandoned build.  You can't tell what kinda shape it's in from where I always saw it from.  But now it all makes sense.  I wondered if anyone I knew had ever been up there, or even cared to explore those hoods, but it was magical.
   
     I was getting hungry so I headed to the other end of "Flat Top" and into an adjoining neighborhood.  It brought me out at Lincoln Park where I found a small corner Mexican sidewalk eatery.  I ordered a machaca, egg, potato and cheese breakfast burrito for $2.50.  I thought I'd crossed the boarder.  It was the best thing ever.  I sat out front at a circular table with a blue umbrella.  A neighborhood dog laid protectively next to my moto.  This morning was perfect.

For Oscar.

I always say "a great trip is only complete if you've weathered a storm." Well, todays rain ride home from SD to LA proved once more to be evident of that. And often times, the greatest trips involve a few types of storms; emotional, physical, and spiritual. I'd say I had a nice combination of each this weekend. Now, hear ye this, "though it may rain and it may pour, it's sure to eventually shine. So grab those handlebars and hang on, cause there's a road up ahead that needs travelin." This one goes out to the greatest Oscar Hogwild Roberts, whose spirit rides on. ♥

Bars of change

    Two weeks ago I decided to rent a C container at my old place. It's the best thing. It's large and dirty, and has two wide swinging doors for easy in and out access.  I put all my stuff in there, and I still have room to party.  I back my truck up and kick it on the gate between breaks when doing work on my motorcycle.  My tools are all right there and it's just me and my things.

Which brings me to the other day.  The other day I fortunately ran across some handlebars.  So naturally as soon as I got home to the storage unit/garage I couldn't wait to get em on.  First the lighting situation, since it was night and my storage has no lights.  Solution: I aimed my truck headlights on the bike, and away I went disassembling the handlebars.  By the grace of my truck lights, I got the old bars off and the new ones on, whilst dropping a screw here and there, and spending valuable time searching for lost screws in the dark.  I encountered a couple hick-ups as I thought I would with the longer bars and the old wiring harness.  The break line and clutch were the main issues.  First I tackled the break line to get that thing to pull enough so I could get my right hand break to fit back on the throttle controls.  I had to undo two screws to free the thing.  One was a harnessing clamp under my triple trees where the break line was neatly tucked, and another was right on the inside of the upper triple trees.  Freeing the whole thing up was great.  Now my front break line dangles hap-hazardously so that I can have all the extra length so that my manufactured-to-fit-yet-annoyingly-neat front break can fit where it's supposed to at the moment.  The clutch cable was an easier adjustment.  I just undid some frame clamps that it was tucked behind, and it dangled enough to give me the length to get the clutch on and then I just tucked it back on the frame where it naturally fell.

Also, with the new position of my hand controls, the side mirrors didn't fit either. So I swapped em around, and finagled one to fit my left side so at least I legally have one, while the right one, well, it got ditched completely.  Figure I don't need two gobbing up my handlebars.

Once I got it all together, it was pretty late by this time, and I was exhausted.  But I jumped on and rolled it down the street and back cause I couldn't wait to see how they handled.  I was in love.  It was like riding for my first time again.  I was laughing and smiling the whole time I was riding down the street talkin aloud to myself and anyone who could hear or give a damn about how fun my new bars were.  Hahaha.  I slept in the truck that night.  But I couldn't really sleep knowing that all I wanted to do was ride my bike in the morning.

Night moves: 

My truck headlights illuminating the work area.

Morning shots.

Aerial-ish view.

love.

The next day when I was riding, I couldn't help the huge grin on my face riding around town.  It was a whole new experience with those new bars.  I never knew changing my handle position could change the feel and perspective of the ride, but it did.  The essence and body language is re-inspired.  And it was like my first time riding all over again.  Bliss.

It's raining again.

Los Angeles, you surprise me.  Just when I don't think I need to stay glued to the weather channel after a week of perfectly sunny riding, you decide to pour...for the next few days.  What gives?  I now have to take the four wheeler.  What about my sense of freedom?  Ah, but ok, sure, wash the roads, make them cleaner.  Feed the dry and thirsty plants, they sure need it.  But then, give me some good dry warm riding come next week, cause I'll sure need it.

Another short-lived stint of maintaining a 4 walled domicile is up once again.  I am free to roam the countryside without obligation, accept to gain an inner and higher understanding of myself and purpose.   The end of another promise to be engulfed by the clasps of responsibility, dedication, and expectation have evolved to a rather visceral pile of projectile vomit outwards onto the cosmic concrete seas.  Vessels of futuristic transport to worlds unknown, and portals to the past where I had once grown.  The open road.  A metaphor for everything untapped potential and endless means.  Hope.