Keith's Little Honda (Part 3)

By Keith May
(Originally appeared in Cycle World magazine)  
 

A gleaming white tank dangling in the shadows of a photo taken at Brown’s Cycles in Paso Robles (Eureka or Bust) inspires a weekend on Highway 101. The tank will hopefully improve the resale value of a certain ’89 XT600 while providing a sense of completion never gotten around to. “You can have Friday off if I get a Blog out of it,” the Boss warned. “And I’m not paying for a room this time.” Fine. Somewhere along the coast was a fire-pit with my name on it.

But first the tedious escape from the ominous catacombs of L.A. County. “Gas prices soar… Iran wants nukes… War goes on… Ozone depleted.” NPR blares through traffic. Two hours later, when Santa Maria’s 99.1 greets me with Rush’s Tom Sawyer, my smile broadens for the drive through central California.

“Twenty dollars a night,” the pretty Ranger answers at Pismo State Park. “Two nights please.” I respond with no hesitation. Off the Ford comes the Honda and off we go in search of chowder. Hustlers, One-percenters, unemployed and newly retired crowd the claustrophobic sidewalks down Pismo’s Main Street. Another dirty beach town littered with tattoo parlors, taco stands and surf shops. Ah, feels just like home.

Back at camp, I meet the neighbors. A real humanitarian, Shaggy’s big dream is scoring a license to sell medicinal pot. Until then, his girlfriend Gabby (the quiet one) and their friend Andy, a malnourished Goth are looking for jobs and a cheap apartment. Around their fire, topics range from Yellowstone’s inevitable eruption to neo-Nazism to other dim world views. With nothing to add, I return to my nylon blue domicile glowing like a candle in the blackness of night. Eucalyptus filters the gusty ocean breeze, the ground is soft under my bag and I fall peacefully to sleep while dreaming up big plans for tomorrow.

The sun rises at my feet as nature greets the day in a symphonic crescendo. A swift kick wakes the Honda and we storm Grover Beach trying to stay upright in the silty drifts. After setting up a few photos in the sweet morning light, the Honda’s back in the Ranger on the 101 to Paso Robles. Closing soon for racing, I have to get to Brown’s early.

David sets me up with the tank and off comes the XL for local exploration but only yards from the shop “Snap” goes the throttle. Back at the counter, David is sympathetic but realistic. No cable in stock and no XLs on the lot. Same response at Miller’s Honda down the highway. Only slightly disappointed I return to the beach and explore the dunes like an avatar in Second Life. Piecing together some kind of web-story to satisfy the boss.