The Ride

Yesterday, I rode my Honda Rebel 250 from LA to my parents' house, just south of Phoenix.

Leaving

I ran around Saturday morning, shipping out most of my stuff so I wouldn't be encumbered on the ride. On the one hand, I was able to take the trip with nothing but about five pounds of clothes in a duffle bag strapped to my back. On the minus... I spent half the day dealing with the post office. By the time I was done, it was after 11am. No way I was launching in mid-day. I decided to go home, get my lair in order and hit the sack at about 8:30. I wanted to be well-rested.

I checked the weather on Friday, and saw that a system was moving south along the coast. They predicted LA was going to get rain at about 6am Sunday morning. Not wanting to ride through rain, I tried to beat it by setting the alarm for 5am. To my amazement, I was able to pry myself outta bed when the alarm went off, grab a shower, get dressed, throw on the duffle and hit the road.

Cold and Rain

Five minutes into my trip, it started to rain.

High beam on, 45-mph, I tooled through sleeping downtown LA, hoping not to run into any drunks on their way home. It was cold and raining and it sucked the camel's ass. But I pressed on.

I got out of the city and made my way through the suburbs. Little-by-little, the megamalls thinned out. When I stopped seeing Home Depots and Wal-Marts and started noticing truck stop-type places, I figured it was time to grab some juice.

First Stop

I stopped off at a gas station just outside Indio. It took less than three bucks to top off the tank with premium. The Rebel's milage is amazing, and continued to amaze throughout the trip. When I went inside to get my change, I warmed up just enough to start shivering. Damn, my knees were cold.

But the weather had said the rain was sticking to the coast. All I had to do was get far enough east and I'd be fine. I pushed on.

As I took off from Indio, the bike was making a weird sound, and wouldn't kick up past 60 or so. Then I realized I was still in fourth. Shit, what noob maneuver.

The Hills

After LA, you get into roads twisting through the hills, their tops spiked with dozens of windmills. I ran into another obstacle: wind. It swooshed around into the hills and came at me at random, from every direction. With the rain and dark and cold, it was a fight. I started to freak out a little bit.

And then I was passed by three middle-aged men on bikes. These guys were obviously experienced tour riders: they rode huge bikes piled with lockable storage, and were dressed like they were going for a space walk. They didn't acknowledge me (I sometimes get nods and waves from random people riding past on bikes), but that didn't matter. It's like what Anthony Hopkins says in The Edge: "What one man can do, another can do." Just by seeing other bikes on the road, I was able to even out my head. I pushed on.

Which paid off. Just a few minutes after that, I crested a rise. The clouds broke on the horizon, and a clear and golden sun shone through that little sliver of space in the darkness. The clouds were low enough that they covered the tops of the mountains, silhouetting them with this bright, bright light. Nature's chiar oscuro. It was beautiful.

Inclines

I kept riding, and left the rain behind. Though it was still early-morning cold. (Note to self: leave after 9am next time). I increased my speed, charging up a long incline. The drawback of the Rebel is it's kinda weak against hills... I would have the full throttle open, and the speed would still decline.

I saw a sign that said: "No Service for 60 Miles." My dad had made this trip a couple of times, and had warned me there were stretches of deep desert, with no cell reception, nothing but sand and rocks for miles. This was the first one. Milage or no milage, I wasn't gonna chance it. I pulled into the gas station/rest stop, fueled up (another three bucks) and called the parents. My mom picked up, and was pleased to discover I was alive.

I launched. By this time, the sun was up and the air warmed. No rain, no cold and full visibility: I was ready to rock.

Rocks

Outside an Indian reservation, I came to a part of the road that wound between two steep hills. A sign said: "Watch for Rocks." Just as I read it, a rock kicked up from an 18-wheeler and beaned me in the head. I thought, Found one! I was wearing a helmet, so no big deal, but it cracked one of my vent adjusters off. Small price.

Butterflies

Not long after that, I saw the first butterfly flit across the road. It was big enough to see it flapping around long before I passed it. I reacted like most people would: Huh, big butterfly.

Then I saw two more. A-hah, more butterflies. This must be their, uh... territory, or something.

More butterflies. And more. Within a minute, there were dozens ahead of me at all times. They started hitting me -- or rather me, them. Rebounding off my jacket and helmet, they left huge, bright-yellow splashes of butterfly guts. I looked like I'd gotten my ass kicked at paint ball. But when they hit my legs, protected only by denim, they felt like BB-pellets. I figured I could handle a few "Ow!" moments, when...

...thousands of butterflies filled the road. It was exactly like watching heavy flurries get blown sideways by wind, except instead of snow, they were butterflies. One smacked my visor, directly over my right eye. I spent the next forty miles riding with my head tilted so I could see around its corpse. The hits on my legs came by the dozens. But I refused to get killed by fucking butterflies, of all things. I lowered my head and pushed through the main swarm. Rain and wind, sure... but butterfly swarms? What the fuckin'-FUCK?!

Blythe

I made it to Blythe, where I used the windshield wiper to clean off my helmet, and some rags to get the majority of the butterfly goo off my jeans and jacket. I filled up (less than three bucks) and pushed on.

I hit another butterfly swarm. This one was minor by comparison, just a few dozen at a time. I was like, Shit, not again! But after a few miles I realized I'd already hit the main butterfly force.

I crossed into Arizona.

Deep Desert

This was the second deep-desert stretch, about 75 miles of nothing. A fierce wind came up. But at least this was steady -- I was able to predict it and lean. It was later, and there were more trucks on the road. They were good and bad, depending... If the wind was coming from the south when I passed them, I'd get a few seconds of respite. If it was coming from the north, the wind would rebound off the side of the truck and hit me from weird angles, like in the hills.

I'd been riding long enough that my ass was killing me, my legs and arms were tightening up. I tried to find subtle ways to stretch while flying across the desert at 75-mph.

Phoenix

I'd been seeing signs for Phoenix for a while, but they just depressed me: 294 miles, 275 miles, etc. By now, I was cracking 100: Phoenix 94... Phoenix 75... Getting there.

I finally, finally, finally got to my turn-off, and ran into normal street traffic, which had become strange after spending hours in flat-out speed. Suddenly, I had to brake and shift gears again... everyday riding had become bizarre.

Long/short, I arrived seven hours after leaving LA. Whew.

Now all I have to do is ride back on Sunday.