Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
I had a globe to cross and a motorbike to ride, which sat outside my house, taunting me
with my lack of mechanic skills.
I had bought the bike in Vegas only two weeks earlier. Unfortunately, it hadn't made it
all the way home without incident. In Pasadena, only thirty miles from my house, the bike
had revolted, breaking down on one of the busiest freeways in America. That's right, you
heard me. On my first day of riding the damn thing, it couldn't even make it to LA from
Vegas—and this was the bike I was trusting to get me around the world. I had to pay $450
just for it to be towed from Pasadena to Los Angeles. I wouldn't have $450 out there on the
road. I wouldn't even have one dollar.
But perhaps even more troubling was the knowledge that though Kindness One looked
good (and even had a new engine), the rest of it was built in 1978. Probably one of the only
guarantees on this trip was that the bike
would
break down. I had taken a two-hour class
on motorcycle maintenance, but failed to get any of the Zen. I bought the topic, as the in-
structor suggested, but never got around to reading it. Sadly, the class didn't help too much,
either.
On top of worrying about the bike malfunctioning, I was still not confirmed on a ship
to cross the Atlantic (and I couldn't even begin to think about the Pacific crossing). Every
day I made phone calls to shipping companies across the world. I had been put on hold for
hours; I had begged people in foreign languages; I had friends begging people in foreign
languages; I had cajoled, and once, just a little bit, for like a second, I had cried.
And then I spoke to Robert, who worked at a shipping company based overseas. He
didn't tell me that I had safe passage, but he told me the next-best word to yes—
maybe
.
“You mean if I call you in two weeks, I might be able to get on a ship?” I asked.
“Yeah, it would be on a ship going from New York to Tarragona, Spain. . . . Maybe,”
Robert repeated the word as though I hadn't heard him the first time.
Lina opened the door to the bedroom and stood for a moment in the doorway. The sun-
light hit her face and bounced off her blonde hair like a halo. I could tell she had been cry-
ing.
We both said the words at the same time, “I'm sorry.”
I grabbed her tight, and whispered, “Don't worry. I'll be home soon.”
I could feel her as she nodded into my shoulder, and I felt bad for conjuring up yet an-
other adventure right after we had moved in together. I knew Lina had been hoping for one
that centered more on wedding bells than yellow motorbikes. Finally, we let go of one an-
other as she looked around the room, and said, “Well, I guess it's almost time.”
