Thanks Will :>
To bring you up-to-date, the B has received a new battery and starter and
is now being stripped down for restoration. I'm doing the floors first,
rockers second and the rest third. I'd tell you all what the "rest" is,
but it's a huge list. I actually have a list thanks to Jenifer who has
reduced my "in-over-my-head" feeling by forcing me to order all of the
tasks ahead with self-imposed deadlines. Breaking the work up into
segments makes the overall task not so daunting. I'd gladly post my list
if anyone is interrested. In the meantime, here's what happened the rest
of the trip...
Part 9 -- Today's word is "Ostrich"
The top-down experience was a significant improvement over driving cloaked
and hooded for the past 1000 miles or so. I began to truly feel part of
the world, rather than an isolated, egg-like microbe passing through it on
its way to a new host. I began to see things - and not see things
differently than before, and felt a bit more conspicuous in the process.
In a world of tractor-trailors and dualies, conspicuousness in a car that
bearly breaks the ton barrier is a good thing.
Clearing a rise another 30 inutes past Steins I saw a magnificent jagged
outcrop cutting its way into the sky above. I got some nice shots and then
decided to get closer. The outcrop itself masked the first stand of
Seguarro Cactus I had yet seen on this trip. Wandering through the
Seguarro was a Dr. Seuss experience. I can describe it no other way. The
odd size, shape and placement of these native cacti were reminiscent of the
odd drawings in Dr. Seuss' "Oh The Places You Will Go." Oh the places
indeed.
Driving slowly down the dirt access road near the cactus and outcrop, I
crained my head around to determine the best angle for some shots of both.
I could see peripheraly that the road was about to dead-end in a turnabout,
so I pulled over. When I finally looked straight ahead, I was eye-to-eye
with a very large ostrich. Was this some twisted desert cult rodeo center?
Would they be having an ostrich roundup? All I can say is that there were
thousands of these enourmous birds and I'd hate to see the size of their
rotisserie barbeque.
Back on highway 10, the road streched magnificently and mercilesly all the
way to Phoenix. The nervousness of the previous day's journey had worn
off, and with the wind and sun shining down, I finally had the freedom of
consciousneed for some real life examination. Mostly I thought about
Aaron. I'd like to think he and I were a lot alike, but I couldn't be so
arrogant. He was the person you instantly liked, and liked more later on
when you discovered that his warmth was genuine, his commitment to
frienship was real and his intellect always challenging. Aaron died less
than a month before my trip. He was travelling alone through the Desert
Southwest and then through Colorado and Utah. Alone, like me.
Alone, but not lonely. Alone and lonely aren't the same. Aaron fell down
a canyon while hiking in Utah. The memory of learning of my friend's death
and the feeling I was retracing his steps, living his last days - and in a
way - becoming closer to a friend I should have been a closer friend to in
the first place. I think I was relieved to know his last days were spent
like this, soaking in enourmous beauty, challenging himself with
extraordinary adventure and luring complacency into a solid steel trap and
stashing it away forever.
Emma's constant hum kept me grounded, and the fact that I was sticking
mostly to main roads didn't hurt either. Phoenix snapped me back to
reality. Rush hour traffic. Sory if you live their, but Phoenix sucks.
It's sprawl of tract-housing, uglu buildings and rude drivers was
astounding. I couldn't wait to get to the other side of town. It was
still a VERY long way to Los Angeles and I was barely more than half-way
there. I think Phoenix set the mood for the rest of my trip into L.A. I
was somber and anxious.
The sun had completely set by the time I crossed into California. This
border crossing was a significant milestone -- at least psychologically. I
was in my home state, albeit another 800 miles from home. A brief stop in
Indeo to call family, talk to Jen, gas-up and raise the hood against the
night chill of the desert and I was off again to descend this high plateau
into the L.A. basin.
My heart stopped when I heard the grinding. It barked out from the left
wheel-well and my first thought was, "oh shit, I blew an oil seal and spun
a bearing - bad!" This was the end of the trip. The only thing ahead was
a long and very expensive tow to wherever the hell I could go to get my LBC
fixed, or at least the parts to do the job myself. I jumped out and
rummaged throught he boot for my flashlight so I could inspect the damage.
Leaning on the rear wing in the pitch-black, I heard the grinding, but it
wasn't grinding at all, more like a scraping sound. On a hunch, I reached
down and felt the area where trhe rear resonator ought to be. It wasn't.
Instead, it was hanging by a thread and dragging on the aphalt. Damn if
this wasn't a whole lot better than a bearing failure! I jubillantly
grabbed the now terrestrial pipe, gave a god twist and yanked it free.
Into the boot it went and on we marched toward L.A. - louder than before,
but at least we were marching.
I had no idea -- even having grown up in California -- that the suburban
sprawl leading to L.A. began just outside of Palm Springs. Two and a half
hours of wall-to-wall semi-humanity. This was the most boring and
mind-numbing part of the trip. There was no desert scenery of pitch black
desert night to awe me, just concrete, neon, tract housing, cars, more
concrete and more cars. This was simply sick and wrong. I had to get to
L.A. if only to settle down with a beer and a longing for the remainder of
the trip back to Northern California.
My sister's house was a fantastic haven, replete with great beer and loads
of Pizza. Her boyfriend Warren was in town and shared my love for craft
brews. After some Sierra Nevada, Samichlaus, and some French-made Scotch
Ale (I'd kill fore the brewer's name), we dipped into his stash of Samuel
Adams' Triple Bock. I was finally REALLY happy.
More to come, the final leg -- I found out what Noah REALLY went through.....
Copyright 1996, Andy Ramm
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