Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
and be my, you know, date—not date, really, but you know, kind of a travel companion, you
know . . .
I didn't know but heard the offer to ride both on and off the motorcycle. Her rack and
glow and pretty face were compelling, but along with blowing sure shots on two beauties that
week, I'd blown my reason and patience, too. I said, “No. I need to ride alone now.”
She hung her head to murmur, “I understand.” I'm not sure what she understood. Maybe
she thought she shouldn't have complained about a tit squeeze. Maybe she sensed a rare
chance to hang out with a free spirit on a motorcycle. Maybe she was twenty-five already, or
twenty-eight. I wonder where she went. On a few common coordinates she was willing to ride
on back across Europe, because we were young and could resolve the hormonal challenge of
the times we lived in.
I walked toward the motorcycle bivouac through the disheveled, half-struck campground
and campers cooking last meals before departure to fresher places. From the thick of it I
turned to see her walking away among the campfires. Should I go get her? Is fate so fickle on
a moment's indecision? I took a step in her direction—what the hell. When you got nothing
you got . . . But from the dwindling motorcycle line-up near the fence came another chaos.
“Fuck!” John vented over love lost and more: Jane had split with his passport. Fuming and
pacing he figured we could catch them if we left now, because failure would leave us stuck.
He wasn't worried about Andorra, because it's a principality, not a country, no need for
passports there, and we could enter Monaco the same way. But Italy's border would be the end
of the road with no passport. But shit, we had the Pyrenees Mountains and the entire south
coast of France to catch them, which was good. And bad. Fuck. Who needs a mountain pass
at midnight? Fuck that.
So we stoked another bowl and popped the last of the vino to ease into a night of reckon-
ing and steel us for long, winding miles at breakneck speed.
What the fuck?
I thought about seeing if the nurse from Canada wanted to, you know, hang out for a
while, to further examine prospects for traveling together, but the dope and potential rejection
on a test grind, I mean a little quiet time together, undermined motivation, or rather burned
it down to embers and ashes.
I drifted to dreamland on compound regret; events of the week had led to insight on the
romance/love/sexual situation relating to women. Things were not yet clear, but a little light
shone. That is, the Golden Fleece must not be pursued or resisted but sincerely observed. She
would indicate what to do and when. Marisol and Rianne had shown the threshold, and I'd
failed to carry them over. Unless I was wrong, and they too would have stopped cold on as-
sault with attempt to grope. Unless, maybe . . .
At daybreak John cooked cowboy coffee on a camp stove, ready to go. Other campers were
waking to the noise of campers leaving. The American contingent had shot its wad in the
