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"ROAD TRIPS" by THE OLD SQUID |
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"Road Trips" by The Old Squid
Real Motorcycle Shops and What Dad's Are For
Lately, the trend in motorcycle shops is to clean them up and turn them into boutiques. Harley is the worst with their ersatz-outlaw clothing sold by young girls whose knowledge of motorcycles is that they have two wheels and "are really loud!" Back when I was a young squid, the shops were only frequented by "bikers". Not riffraff outlaw bikers but real bikers who rode every day and did all their own work. They bought parts and drank coffee at the shop and it was store and social club rolled into one. The floor had grease on it. The furniture had grease on it. The Bikers had grease on them. The mechanics definitely had grease on them...and enormous knowledge of what made bikes tick. When I was in college, my buddies and I hung out at a place like that in Portland. Eastside Harley furnished free donuts every Saturday morning, and for starving college kids "free" sounded just fine. The owner had a pretty daughter who we flirted with absolutely no luck. These were all good reasons to go there but the real reason was the head mechanic. John Martinolich would invite us into the inner sanctum at closing. As soon as the owner was gone, John would open the service entrance and we'd pull up a milk crate and listen and learn. John knew his engines inside and out and he knew motorcycles and riding from decades of riding and competition. In the dim light above his well used bench was a metal plate with his racing number: #1. He'd been the top AMA hill climb competitor in 1947 and had earned his spurs against tough racers. We'd drink coke mixed with cheap whiskey and kill a couple of hours while he spun yarns about the motors and bikes. I'm happy to say that there still are a few shops like that and West Coast Cycles in Petaluma is one. The mechanic was a wily old gnome almost my age. He was sarcastic as hell in commenting on my lack of chain lube and spotted about 10 things in his quick once over that needed attention. And I thought that I had prepped the bike well too! He took care of all of them and quickly installed the voltage regulator I'd ordered the day before when it was delivered by Fed Ex that noon. Meanwhile my son had been getting ancy just sitting. "Do you want to go?" I asked. "Yeah," he said. "Where? " I asked. "San Francisco," he replied. Decision time. I didn't want to go there. My back was still killing me and I knew there was a jacuzi tub in our room at Monterey. But the kid had never been in the Big City... and his Mom would kill me if something happened to him. Now I'm up against it. At his age, I would have wanted the same thing. What would my Mom have said? That's easy. She would have said "Yes, but be careful." She was remarkably astute at knowing when to say yes and let me do things that I'm still amazed at. But at the same time, I'd always realize that I had been given a gift of permission and I'd be extra careful. So, finally, I realize that this trip isn't about some psycho babble "bonding" or about "building a relationship" with my son. The real purpose was to test me and see if I could cut him loose and say "yes" when the time came. I did and I added "but be careful" as a family tradition. Of course I kept the cell phone on and worried all the way down the Interstate 880 and 101 through San Jose and into Monterey. The phone rang about the time I started really worrying. He was out of gas on the 101 freeway about 30 miles out of Monterey. I told him to wait and I'd be there. I was but he wasn't! Seems he'd also called a tow truck from a call box and found out that they would bring gas so he headed in as soon as they came and he had fuel. I didn't get the message about this because by that time I was in transit and couldn't hear my cell phone ring. OS travel tip #6: In an emergency, make a plan and don't change it until all the troops are called off. Cost of two gallons of gas from a tow truck: $60. Cost of two gallons of gas from Dad and a brand new, bright red plastic gas can I had to buy from the bastard thieves at the Unocal station: $20. Of course I charged him for it. We learn life's lessons best when we pay the tuition. Well, it's only money and we're all safe in Monterey on World Superbike weekend. |
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