FXFB 2019 Walk-Around | Buying My First Harley

A Lesson in Breaking Through Walls

*Shout out to Blogger for not deactivating this page after a decade of not being touched

I was on the road from September through December in 2010. There was no shortage of experiences to challenge my mental endurance. And having to face them alone added another layer of complexity; No camaraderie to share the uncertainty with, no laughing through it with some shared dark humor.  Just days and nights of riding alone at 80mph in sub-freezing temps, and more than enough moments on overpasses high in the snowing Lolo Forest of Montana, with signs warning of black ice. 

Each one of those signs offered an easy out. They were yellow symbols of respite in a warm bed, warmer weather, and not folding my bike into an icy overpass guardrail. Though, I never gave them more than a fleeting acknowledgment. I wasn't turning around, or veering off my course of cutting across the northern States to get to NYC. I instead found myself pinning the throttle wide open, opening my mouth behind my balaclava and releasing a guttural roar in unison with the bike's engine, until I'd make it to the other side of the overpass. I'd feel the tension dissipate as I broke through what felt like another wall in my path. In those moments I'd get flooded with endorphins and feel like a road warrior, and I looked... fucking ridiculous. Picture Kenny from South Park, but in black instead of orange, and bitching about not being able to feel his hands.

I digress. There are moments in life when the universe seems to remove a wall you've committed to breaking through. Maybe that wall is with finding a healthy way to navigate a divorce or breakup. Or showing up to a lengthy, intimidating interview for a higher-paying job. Or being brutally honest about what you expect from yourself, and want more of from the fleeting time we have here. What ever the wall is, when there's no other path you are willing to take other than breaking through it, even with the fear of not knowing what's awaiting you on the other side, I believe it's at those times the universe will reward that commitment. And the wall is gone. 

Привет

[Posted September 2010]

California - 

A. Riverside

B. Los Angeles

C. Pacific Coast Highway

D. San Jose/Palo Alto

E. San Francisco

A.

I would've rather zipped up my man-piece than ride for 4 hours in sunny, 105 degree weather. By the time I pulled up to my cousin's house and undressed I realized how drained I was, and my legs and joints felt like someone took a bat to them. I changed and spent some time looking through pictures of my dad with my uncle George and aunt Jane, and soon after, my cousin Angie picked me up to watch the UFC fights at a Hooter's a few minutes away. Frank definitely didn't need to hit Mirko with those last few punches.

B.

I had some anxiety about getting into L.A. at night, but on the ride I learned that there are few things more thrilling to me than leaning into long, sweeping turns at 80 mph and lane splitting in the dark. I got to Dima's place in Santa Monica around 8, took a quick shower and we left on our bikes to head into Westwood Village. Dima's classmate, Kyong, is going into the Korean military so some friends in their Economics program decided to meet at Barney's Beanery to say their goodbyes. 

It took several days of staying in L.A. for my mind and body to recover from the AZ to CA stretch, but in the meantime I made it a point not to relax at the house. Dima and I walked around quite a bit in Santa Monica, where he schooled me on the SM bus system and a little on the harshness of Russian culture. He explained that the bus systems in Russia aren't organized; you wait at a stop for a bus to come, but there are no schedules or maps to tell when it's coming or where it's going, or if one will come at all. He also said the police can basically stop you at will while you're on the street, and if you're not a student and are physically able, you can be forced to join the Russian army. Making eye contact with someone on the street, even if accompanied by a smile, is considered rude and can be perceived as a threat. It is also common practice for the police to cite you for whatever reason they see fit, and then claim that a bribe is the cheap way out of the situation, when in fact the bribe amount exceeds the cost of the citation. On the lighter side, a part of Russian culture that I find funny is that they don't follow the idea of free refills, because he claims Russians are apt to take whatever they can from wherever possible.

I spent most of my time in L.A. with Dima, but also had the pleasure of hanging out with a few friends from Havasu. I was able to meet up with Chase at his place in Sierra Madre, where he offered me some of the best bread I've ever had:

and talked about about his roommate, the infamous Merlin... A bearded, elf-ish-looking elderly stoner who probably took a heroic dose of psilocybin when he designed his Alice In Wonderland-esque back yard. After driving Mary Ann and Dima to LAX, I spent some time in Pasadena with Ryan A., who was kind enough to show me around the Pasadena College campus. Later, we had lunch and checked out the new Ducatis. 

A couple of nights before leaving LA, I got a hold of Ryan R., my friend from middle school who I last saw when we ran into each other at Coachella in 2004. He was working late hours with a video production team but invited me to come by for a short visit. The studio where they work is off of Melrose in West Hollywood, and I was eating dinner only a couple of miles away at Real Food Daily. The studio is a really cool two-story space with a kitchen, bathroom and balcony. Downstairs was David, who was editing his sushi documentary. There were several workstations upstairs where several guys our age were stressing over a deadline that had already passed. He introduced me to everyone, who were super nice considering their work load. Among the team was Hiro, who had recently directed the video for DJ Got Us Falling In Love by Usher. Ryan gave me a quick rundown on what he was working on and then walked me outside to say goodbye. 

We ended up talking on the sidewalk for about two hours, reminiscing on surreal events that had taken place in middle school, and catching up on the directions our lives had taken since we last saw each other. Somewhere between our talk, a guy pulled up to the building in an Audi R8, and Ryan said, "Oh, that's Nabil." I commented on the car and then Ryan informed me that it was Seal's, and that he was letting Nabil drive it. Ryan introduced me to Nabil, and he stayed and talked for a minute before heading into the studio. Soon after, Ryan and I said our goodbyes. I was grateful to have caught up with an old friend after a handful of years, and sharing our highs and lows over the last decade made me that much more happier to see him doing what he loves. 

C.

PCH marked a few firsts for me. It was the first stretch where I was worried about running out of gas, and my first time dealing with sharp turns, which I watched other cyclists take smoothly and at higher speeds. I was cold for the first time on the trip, as the weather went from sunny and warm to long periods when the sun disappeared behind a grey sky with low clouds and it would feel like I was standing naked in a walk-in refrigerator. It was the first time I realized this trip wasn't as extraordinary as I had led myself to believe, after taking a break on the side of the road and meeting a group of bicyclists who had started their trip in Alaska and were on their way to Mexico City. It was also the first time that I've dropped my bike. About a hundred miles South of Monterey, I turned off the road to take some pictures of clouds rolling in from the ocean. As I came to a stop, the road was angled up and to the left so I shifted my weight and put my foot down. And then my foot rested on a patch of loose gravel. I tried with all of my strength to keep it upright, but the 400+ lbs. of the bike effortlessly swept my leg out and it flopped. After several attempts to lift it, a guy who looked around my age and had also stopped to take pictures ran over to help. He was even kind enough to ask if I was ok. "Did you pull your groin?" I laughed and and told him I was ok, although I had so much adrenaline from worrying about getting hit by a car, damage to my bike and trying my hardest to lift it that I probably wouldn't have noticed right away. I walked across the street and took this video:

I got into Monterey just after sunset and stopped at a Starbuck's to warm up and search for hotels online. I called 14 hotels until I found one with an available room. When I pulled up to the hotel and took my helmet off, I heard a band in a bar across the street playing Sabor A Mi, a song which I've only heard from a recording of my dad singing when I was a kid. I rode a few miles in the fog to a Whole Foods to pick up dinner, made myself a cup of tea in the hotel lobby and went to bed. The next morning I woke up to jazz spilling from across the street, echoing in the neighborhood. I checked out, wearily packed Junior and left the coast.

D. 

From Monterey, I rode a couple of hours inland to San Jose to visit my cousins Trisia and John.  On the way, the curves ranged from gradual to sharp, which gave me time to become more comfortable leaning into sharp turns without letting off the throttle, and more confident rolling on the throttle to cut out. I believe this was where I began to sense my bike as more of an extension of myself, rather than an intimidating and inanimate machine underneath me (a feeling that magnified after dropping it). This is where it became total dude on dude love. I haven't felt the same about Junior since. 

I hadn't seen Trisia and John in several years, and it was nice to spend some time with them and to see their son, Michael, and newborn, Justin, for the first time. As I got ready to leave, we tried to sit Michael on the bike, but he was too scared, and after a few tries we gave up. John went to give me a $20 bill, and after a few tries to give it back, I gave up. He insisted that I use it for dinner. 

I pulled up to my cousin Billy's apartment in Palo Alto 45 minutes later. After unpacking, we caught up on the last couple of years. Billy graduated from Stanford last year and is living with two fellow cyclists from the Stanford cycling team. He studied Civil Engineering and is doing work on the side for a professor and riding his bike on a daily basis further than I've probably walked in my lifetime. After unpacking, we drove to downtown Menlo Park so Billy could get his frozen yogurt fix and I could get this delicious Indian meal, thanks to John and Trisia:

The next night, Billy and some friends were getting together for someone's birthday and he invited me to get drinks at a bar after their dinner. While they ate, I eventually found another Indian place and had more chana masala and dal. I was still hungry afterwords, so I walked up the street and found a Thai restaurant that had soy chick'n satay on the menu outside. The tofu satay at Komol in Las Vegas is one of my favorite appetizers, so I was hopeful. 

I sat down and ordered, and a few minutes later it was in front of me. I took a large bite, began to chew and immediately the overwhelming taste of freezer burn and the mushy, formless texture that began to fall apart in my mouth initiated a gag reflex, and I made a successful attempt not to spit everything out. My first reaction was to have a conversation with someone to keep my mind off of what had just happened, which then reminded me of an experience several months ago when I walked into a warm, steamy bathroom only to look up to the sight of my friend's aunt's naked body slowly moving towards me and the monotone moan she bellowed that has unfortunately been burned into my memory. I was on the phone with a friend at the time and managed an abrupt apology as I faced the dilemma of whether to digest what had taken place, or focus in on the words being spoken from my phone. I made a split-second decision for the latter, did an about-face and immediately exited the bathroom. I walked outside and sat on the diving board and stared at the pool, continuing the conversation, subconsciously hoping that with every word spoken, several seconds of my memory would be chipped away with the efficiency of an ice pick handled by the caring hands of God. But, here in the restaurant I was alone and had no one to talk to, so instead I smirked at the server who was looking over at me, chewed a few more times and paid the bill. 

Soon after, I walked into the bar and sat next to Billy and a student who was visiting Stanford. He was there to continue developing a medical device that stimulates the muscles necessary for breathing that begin to atrophy after a patient has been on a ventilator for a significant amount of time. 

The next morning, Billy's roommate, Eileen, came to the couch/my bed and gave me a really sweet note and a small loaf of banana bread that her and her boyfriend had made the night before. I was flattered and happy to have one of my favorite snacks to take with me on the road. 

E.

I arrived in San Francisco about half an hour after leaving Billy's. I was worried about traffic, but at the time, Daryl lived with Danielle in the Sunset District and there was relatively little traffic to deal with. Daryl came out to the street and helped me bring everything in, and we sat in the back yard and talked while playing with Munchkin, Danielle's Boston Terrier:

Soon after, we walked around to find food and came across a vegetarian Chinese restaurant. 

After lunch, I contacted Robert who was in town for the day, and he said he'd have time to meet up for dinner. I was surprised when he told me that he hadn't been to Millennium. He made reservations and I made plans to meet up with Daryl and his friend, Tanya, afterwards. 

I got off of the Muni at Union Square a few hours later and made my way up Geary Blvd. I walked into the restaurant and found Robert, who was talking to an old friend from Portland who happened to be working there. His friend found us a table and we ordered. Robert was super-pumped on just about anything; from his book tour, to the courses that came to our table, to his workout in the park earlier in the day. He'd often take a break from eating/taking pictures of our food to randomly pull up his sleeve and flex. His unbounded and seemingly endless energy was entertaining. As we worked through our courses, he told me about sleeping in his car to save money while on his tour, talking the staff at YMCAs into letting him workout for free, and about the financial and publishing tribulations he had pushed through over the last couple of years. After dinner we walked to the parking garage where Robert was nice enough to offer me some Vega for the road, which has proven to be a blessing on nights when I haven't had much to eat.

I met up with Daryl and Tanya at the station, and after riding a few buses we ended up at Dolores Park. The park was dark and damp, and I sat and listened as their conversation moved from one topic to another. We walked around for another hour or so and eventually made it home. The next day we grabbed a late lunch, met Danielle at Golden Gate Park and ate in front of the buffalo:

The following morning, I tried French pressed coffee for the first time, and Daryl and I sat in the kitchen and swooned over several female singer/songwriters. Shortly after, I packed and said goodbye.

Bozeman, Montana

"I wanted movement and not a calm course of existence. I wanted excitement and danger and the chance to sacrifice myself for my love. I felt in myself a superabundance of energy which found no outlet in our quiet life." -Leo Tolstoy

It's Halloween night and I'm in a Days Inn doing laundry. I have been traveling through the top of Idaho and central Montana the last couple of days. I've seen beautiful golden hills with patches of deep-red, yellow and green trees, and have ridden through mountain passes on snow-plowed and rain-soaked roads. This is my second night in Bozeman, and I've been dreading Montana's freezing rain and snowfall.

I can feel it taking a toll on my body and there have been times when I've felt like I'm close to getting sick, and if I lie down and allow myself to think about it enough I begin to feel like I'm on the verge of becoming debilitatingly ill. I know it's because I'm mentally and physically exhausted, and my body hasn't had enough time to acclimate to the changes in environment that I've put it through since I arrived in the Northwest. This is clearly the point where it becomes predominantly a mental effort, and I need to ignore my body's natural response to mental and physical stress. It's a simple equation and I don't need to complicate it by allowing anxiety to surface; I either listen to my body and head home, or I fixate on NYC and move on.

I have to bring up the Bozeman Co-op, because this place has been an oasis in the middle of nowhere. Originally, I thought I'd be eating fast food while passing through Montana, but I stumbled upon this gem near downtown Bozeman where I've been able to load up on healthy calories, which should help me persevere through this weather. Tonight, I had red pepper and coconut milk soup, grilled eggplant and red peppers, red lentil hummus and grilled mushroom flat bread from the deli. For dessert I had a smoothie with mango, banana, papaya, coconut milk, ginger, hemp protein and flax oil from the cafe. This meal was more than an adequate serving of protein and healthy fats that will help my body recover.

In addition to high-protein, calorie-dense foods, I've been taking hot baths with magnesium oil, which I highly recommend and you can read more on here.

The Beginning

In the middle of moving everything from the apartment into storage to prepare for this trip, I came across this picture of me on my first motorcycle. The motorcycle was built by my father, and the picture was taken in front of our house in West Phoenix, in the neighborhood where most of my early childhood memories took place. One of my favorite experiences that occurred here, a few years before this picture was taken, was the time my dad lifted me into our wheelbarrow and ran me from our drive way across the street. I remember laughing uncontrollably, to the point of drooling on myself.

It is in this neighborhood where I first learned how to control and balance my bike, and where I often would have the bike pinned at full speed on the sidewalk and the throttle would stick, leaving me to delegate my next series of movements until I quickly learned the practical thing to do was not to panic, but instead to put all of my weight on the rear brake to slow it down and then shut off the engine. It's been around 14 years since I last had a motorcycle, and I understand that I will face foreign situations while on the road over the next couple of months. I just hope to face them with the same resolve I had while becoming familiar with the mini bike as a kid.

I have to pack to get ready for San Francisco, but as soon as I find the time and place where I don't have to worry about my bike or bags, I will write about my adventures on and off my bike over the last week and a half. Thanks for listening.