The time with my family at the reunion was some of the happiest times in my life. Even with the grief we bonded, as we had never done before. A genuine warmth and comfort seemed to be shared by my entire family. Maybe it was the pressure of work or the stress of supporting a family that had made Dad an asshole for all the previous years. Now Dad was as I had always wished him to me. He still became irritated but there was something new, tolerance. Dad actually listened to other people points of views, he usually dismissed them but he was listening. It was a shame we couldn't have been this close years ago. Was it only because we realized that we might never meet together again? I hope not. Marty, Amy, and I knew that the forming block of the family would soon be gone. It was up to us to keep the love and power of the family unit held together. The torch had been passed and we were scared.
Saying good-bye to my parents was very difficult. Would I ever see Dad again? I didn't know. As I was shaking hands goodbye I whispered, "love 'ya Dad." He mumbled something under his breath but I couldn't quite hear. When I glanced into his eyes it suddenly became clear to me the words I waited so long to hear were not needed. It was clear and I was sad.
I turned and walked away as my tears began to fall. They drove away. Marty, Amy and I were standing together but each of us felt alone.
Amy had accidentally let it slip out when she drank with Marty and me that she would soon be losing her farm. Marty had offered to give her the money but she refused. Amy was nothing if independent. Amy stated that if she lost her farm she would live off the land. From what I saw the last few days I had no doubts she could do just that, but still a roof over your head is nice.
I knew that if we were going to make it to Alaska we would need someone to carry supplies for us. No matter how you pack them motorcycles could not carry three months of supplies. It was also a good idea to bring a vehicle for shelter even though it was May we were bound to meet some unfavorable weather conditions along the way to Alaska. Amy had a large Jeep that would be perfect for the job.
I asked Amy if she would consider making the trip with us. I explained that since she would be providing a service by hauling our supplies the rest of us could chip in to pay her mortgage for the months of the trip. She was reluctant at first but after Marty join me in attempting to persuade her she finally agreed. The Alaska trip was starting to come together nicely. I had not anticipated a trip with such optimism in sometime. Except for being away from Liz everything seemed great. I had asked Liz shortly after hearing of the trip if she wanted to go but she said there was just too much to sort out right now.
When I called Bill to inform him of the additional people who would be traveling with us, he seemed very pleased. Bill loved parties especially mobile ones. It gave him a change to ramble off his pessimistic views to a wider audience. Bill enjoyed nothing so much as a good debate. In fact, it seemed to be the main purpose to his existence.
We spent a few more days in Virginia finalizing our plans. It was decided by the entire group one more person should be included, Bryan. Bryan was not only an essential part of any true adventure; he was also the only one with mechanical expertise. Bryan wasn't in school and only worked when money was absolutely required. He always felt that the "work ethic" was the greatest sin the Western World had perpetrated upon the human race. To Bryan work not money was the root of all evil and he was probably right. He lived mostly by the barter system and was always willing to lend a hand. If we paid his expenses I was sure he would join us and help with any problems we might have on the way.
Bryan kinfolk's were all from the backcountry of Tennessee. He got a taste for the hooch when he was young and it looked like it was going to be staying. The men in Bryan family were all hard drinkers. These were not however pale face winos, these were hard living mountain men. The males in the Newton's family had been nearing the century mark for generations, despite all their drinking. Bryan was not the husky type but he was scrappy and wiry. He was also about as crazy as an old coyote and twice as mean. Bryan was a calm, peaceful sort when know one mess with him but when someone did he was trouble. For a little guy he was quick and strong. But above all he was fearless. If you meant to win you had better be prepared to get bloody. When something was started Bryan was out of control. The heavy drinking and short temper made him dangerous at times. If you just let him do his thing though he was the salt of the earth.
It took sometime to reach Bryan, but this was usual. When we finally caught him at home he willingly agreed to join us. The trip was set. The fearless crew: Bill, Marty, Amy, Bryan and Tim, were about to journey to Alaska. Although we hadn't all been life long friends, we had spent enough time around each other to feel comfortable. We decided to leave the following weekend. Marty flew back to Oregon. Amy went to her farm, and I went back to Liz.
I wanted to become as close to Liz as possible before I departed. Something was happening to my sweet Liz but I didn't know what or why? I hoped to change this in the next few days. When I returned to my apartment it seem different. Smaller... It was like it was manufactured and I only pretended to live there. Maybe it was and maybe I did? The few times I had felt the sensation of life, it only served as a painful reminder that most of the time I wasn't living at all. It wasn't only me most people I've seen seem to be sleep walking through this existence. It's like everyone decided it was only a dress rehearsal before the big show. As I lay in bed pondering these thoughts I realized it was time for a change. I must start living life my own way, and not feel guilty if it's a different way then most people would choose.
I called Liz about 3 A.M. on Sunday morning. She had taken a position as a waitress after graduation and her shift ended at 2 A.M., so I figured she might be interested in doing something. Liz sounded in good spirits. She told me about the new job in an enthusiastic fast paced voice. When she paused after a long stream of dialog, I asked if she drunken a lot of coffee during her shift. She laughed uncontrollably for a few seconds then said,
"Why do you ask?"
"You sound a little wired", I said.
Liz told me she had tried some Crystal-Meth that evening and asked if I ever had any before.
" Yeah, I've tried it and it is very dangerous shit. "
"Dangerous? Look it's not cocaine or anything," Liz said.
"No, it's much worse" I told her.
"How bad could it be, I feel great."
"That's what good amphetamine usually makes you feel like", I said.
"Amphetamines, you mean like Speed."
"Top of the line, I told her. What did you think?"
"Well....that is....I had no idea. One of the other waitress told me it would perk me up and help me to smile for the customers."
Was she really that naive? I doubted it. "Listen Liz, I said since you're going to be up any way, do you mind if I stop by?" When I hung up it occurred to me that most people I knew had tried drugs she was probably just experimenting. Still, it did not seem like her. Liz always liked being in control and nothing makes you feel more out of control then a speed rush.
Liz looked worse in person then she had sounded on the phone. She was a pasty shade of gray. spit dribbled from her mouth as she tried to smile. She was definitely on the manic end of the high and talked non-stop. She felt everything spoken was some great insight. Liz had no idea that to the average person she would have sounded like a raving lunatic. Her discourse was a jabbed mess of topics, which followed no laws of logical or reason. When she did manage to state an opinion she would it only moments later. Liz's hair was in tattles and appeared unwashed. Her apartment was a disaster area and looked as if someone had torn it apart in frenzy. This was like being in a stranger room and maybe in a way I was. There were times I hoped Liz would loosen up but now I only longed for my old Liz back.
Liz had no idea what shape she was in. To her mind she was acting totally rational. I stayed up all that night with Liz. She finally crashed about 1 P.M. the next afternoon. She had a hell of a ride and I was exhausted. Unfortunately I had become too upset to sleep myself. Instead I cleaned her apartment from top to bottom. I cleaned her apartment, until it was in much better shape then I had ever seen my own. I then sat down and read an entire Science Fiction novel from her selection. There was plenty of time for this and much more since she slept for a total of seventeen hours.
The novel I read was called "Mechanical Rose." It was a fairly interesting story of a species from an another galaxy that had become so advance in science and medicine that it was possible for them to live forever. The citizens of the planet were given the choice of eternal life (on the condition of mandatory sterilization) or living out their natural life without the help of medical advances and having one child. If you chose to live out your life all of your ancestors were also to live in this way and could never be eternal. There were only a small percentage of the citizens that chose to live out their natural life.
Those who had chosen to live without medical science were soon treated as out cast on the planet. Since their lives were short in respect to the eternal lifters their opinions were considered irrelevant. As time went on the eternal ones were soon using science to increase their brainpower. The natural lifers were denied these advances since it would be in violation of the original agreement. The Eternal Ones began to replace their biological body parts with mechanical devices that functioned more efficiently. Natural lifers were not permitted to have these devices. The Eternal Ones eventually replaced all their biological organs with mechanical ones and in time became nothing more than machines.
Eternal ones soon considered the natural lifer's existence as insignificant as we consider ants. They began to experiment on the natural ones resulting in many deaths. The eternal ones were becoming bored with their own endless existence and became increasingly cruel to the natural life ones. It was decided to erase the memory of a large population of the Lifers and send them to an isolated plane to prevent their extinction. On this planet was all the natural resources needed to survive. The Lifers would be monitored to evaluate their movement on this planet.
The Eternal Ones in time wiped out the entire population of Lifers on their own planet and the only ones remaining were those sent to the other planet. Eternal Ones wanted to continue their experiments on Natural Lifers. It was decided that to ensure their survival the Lifers should remain on the distant planet. Some experiments for science and amusement would be permitted but population rates were now regulated.
By the end of the novel the reader realized that the human race was suppose to be the Natural Lifers. The book main point seemed to be that instead of a benevolent God watching us there was actually a sadistic machine species that was bored with eternal life and was conducting cruel experiments on us for amusement. Life on earth was nothing but a bad practical joke. A little bleak but at least there was no great cosmic purpose or conservative moral message. Hey, if the book was right maybe living for self-pleasure was the answer. God is a sadistic machine; it was an interesting concept to me.
Liz finally began to stir to life. Her completion made her resemble an albino lizard. Liz said she had a splitting headache and seemed to be very depressed. I tried to laugh off the previous evening by telling her it was a rite of passage but this did little to cheer her up. She seemed very depressed but also bitter and angry.
I asked Liz to promise she would never try Crank again. She said I had a lot of nerve lecturing her on drug use.
"After all the times you've spent with me in a drunken stupor totally oblivious to my feelings, Liz said. You little shit." I guess this was probably true so I decided to let it slide. But she continued the insults.
"You have always been narcissistic totally absorbed in yourself."
This was started to get ugly and I was beginning to become angry. "You are a selfish person who only uses people for your own advantage, she was becoming increasing vocal with her bombardment of insults. "You have never cared about who I was or what my interests were", she was now screaming. It's all one big fucking game to you."
I tried to remain calm but pride took over. "Look, you ungrateful bitch, I bellowed. I've been playing nursemaid to you for all most two days now. I listened to your drug induced ramblings, cleaned your rat trap of an apartment and waited for seventeen hours to welcome you home to planet earth. I think the least you could say is Thank You." Instead she told me to go fuck myself and threw me out of her apartment.
This wasn't the first fight I've had with Liz or even the worse; still I always hated arguing with her. When we began arguing it was if the ability to understand communication would escape both of us. The issues ceased to be important it was like we were in combat fighting a battle neither of us could win. I guess we were both insecure because we only tried to hurt each other in arguments. We would seek out the emotional weak spot and then strike. I think we were actually attempting to stop the fight but we had very strange ways of doing it. We would try and tear the other ones defenses. In hopes the true emotions we knew the other had for us would be on the other side but they never were. You can use soft, caring words to coax someone wall of angry down but if you tear it down you just fined more anger. If someone doesn't seem like themselves it doesn't always mean they want you to find them. Sometimes they need to hide not just from you but from themselves. This was something I always failed to understand. I would always tear down the wall confident that this would help the other person understand that my intentions were good. Usually the results were similar to what had occurred with Liz today.
Communication was strange. Words were our tools of communication but they were not that important in conveying a message. Your tone of voice, body language and gestures eclipsed the importance of the words. Often the listener would cease listening to the words all together and concentrate only on this unspoken language. Unfortunately the listeners interpretations of these singles were not the same message the speaker intended to send. The listener reacted based on these false perceptions and this would cause the speaker to alter the message being sent. So, basically one person would be stating what they didn't mean, while the other person would react to a perception the speaker didn't even conceive. This sometimes caused people to be enemies that actually should have been best friends and conversely many friends would have been better off if they never saw each other again. As I said communication was complicated and almost pointless. Sometimes it did seem like life was a practical joke and someone was laughing their ass off.
I tried to put the fight with Liz in perspective. She probably felt like shit from the Crank hangover and I was upset that she had tried such a dangerous drug. The argument was almost inevitable given these factors. I should have left when she woke up and talked to her later that day. It wasn't the end of the world though and I was sure was her body and mind return to its normal state she would be in a better mood.
I called Bill the next day and asked if we could check out the Harley. If this was going to be my transportation for over four thousand miles I wanted to get a feel for her. Bill called the owner and arranged a meeting time.
The bike was beautiful. It was bright blue without a scratch on her. The chrome was polished and shined in the noon day sun. It had a brown leather bicycle seat that gave it an antique feel. There were two luggage racks on either side. This machine was a work of art. I had never understood why people bought Harley. They are slower, more expensive, less mobile, and have a far worse repair then Japanese motorcycles. Now that I was this close to one, it made me appreciate the attraction. When I heard the roar of the engine come to life, I feel in love. Jap bikes are a lot quicker then Harelips but you would never know it from their sound. The Harley sounded like pure testosterone power. This was my first ride on a Harley and it was wonderful. These things had such a low end torque by the time I had her at forty-five, it felt like I was cruising at eighty. The bike purred along the road like a stalking lion ready to pounce. I knew I wasn't going to be able to corner at ninety but it offered a different thrill that could never be achieved on the Katana.
The "Fat Boy" was definitely different and that was what it was all about. Change. Different scenery, different climates, different feel. Anything along as it changed. I couldn't stand it when things stayed the same. I guess it was from the sad realization that few things in life actually did change, but if you kept everything in motion you didn't feel the stagnation.
The air was warm and alive. Every fiber of my being was submerged in the glorious comfort of the early summer day. As we cruised up and down hills the temperature changed dramatically. On the top of the hill the air wrapped around me like a warm blanket. It was better than any drug I had ever tried. When the sensation began to feel familiar I would begin declining the hill and all would change. As I descended it felt like entering a different world. A slight chill suddenly replaced the toasty comfort. At first the sensation would just brush beside me but then it spread rapidly. If was like I had plunged into a cool pool after many hours in the hot sun. Not at all unpleasant but still not expected. It didn't matter that I knew the change in temperature was coming, it was always different. Change...Motorcycles understood and so did the people that rode them.
The "Fat Boy" had provided many new sensations. I didn't necessarily want to run out and buy a Harley but I had a new respect for them. Motorcycles to me were similar to women. Each was similar but none the same. Each had characteristics that created a unique magic that enchanted me. There was always some quirk or slight flaw that at times seemed bothersome but actually served to enhance the appeal. Just like women I was infatuated and in awe of the power, poise, and charm of motorcycles. I guess most women would find it insulting to be compared to a motorcycle but to me it was the highest of compliments. I readily agreed to the owner's rental price for the "Fat Boy" and rode it back to my apartment that very day.
Bill and I met Bryan that evening to discuss the travel plans. We decided to have dinner together at an Italian Restaurant down town. There were only a few days before we were to depart and none of us had discussed any details of the trip. The restaurant we chose was authentic Silician, in a section of town known as Little Italy. It was widely rumored that Tony's was Mafia controlled, regardless it was the great Italian dishes that brought the customers. Tony's was renowned as one of the best restaurants in the state and still maintained reasonable prices. The owner's main income most likely came from other sources, so he didn't need to make a lot from the food. Tony's prestigious reputation helped to stop local law enforcement from becoming to curious about what was occurring in the back offices at the restaurant. Many VIP and tourist dined at Tony's so any raid would be an embarrassment to the city. Politicians and business leaders were rumored to take part in high stakes poker games in the back rooms at Tony's. I not sure how many of these stories are true. The only thing I ever saw at Tony's was a cute waitress, serving excellent Italian food, in a beautifully designed restaurant.
Bryan was already in Tony's when Bill and I pulled in the parking lot. I was surprised to see that Bryan had rode the V-Max. Last time I'd seen this bike it was hundred pieces spread across Bryan's garage. Bryan shared a house with six other people and earned most of his money from fixing bikes and cars. Bryan had purchased the V-Max from one of his customers. The guy had slid off the road on the V-Max and smashed the V-Max into a tree. Luckily for this guy he was thrown from the bike when it went off the rode, so he wasn't aboard at the moment of impact. The V-Max was declared totaled from the accident. Bryan gave the guy fifty bucks for the bike and spent an additional eight hundred to repair the damage. Eighty Hundred and fifty dollars, not bad for a bike that was now worth at least five thousand. Bryan had obtained numerous motorcycles by similar methods. He even purchased a Honda 900 CBR that he immediately modified to race at the track. Bryan raced the bike whenever he had enough money for entry fees and travel expenses to the tracks. I'd attended a few of these races and was amazed at what these guys could do on motorcycles. The riders would exceed speeds of one hundred-seventy miles an hour during the race. Bryan usually stayed right in the thick of the race usually placing in the top ten.
The V-Max was not designed for tracks but it was one of the fastest street bikes produced. My Katana is considered a fast sport bike but in a straight way the Max could easily take it. The Katana did the quarter mile in about 11.7 seconds. Mr. Max could accomplish the same feat in about 10.4 seconds. This is quite a difference when you're talking a short distance like a quarter mile. The Max was known as a muscle drag racer and was one of the best bikes for this purpose. It was a powerful beast that could take you to a 100 miles an hour in a distance you never dreamed possible. This was the first time Bill and I had seen a V-Max up close so naturally we stopped to gawk for a time. The Max had a very intimidating appearance. The bike was all black and looked like it was in motion even when it was standing still. The "Fat Boy I'd rented was a beautiful looking bike that sounded powerful but this was the real article. Mr. Max could hit sixty in less then three seconds. It would take about that long to get the "Fat Boy rolling. Fat Boy had the flash but the Max had the go. (Continued on Delta X)
