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Happy holidays
Christmas came and went. We'd bought a Christmas tree and decorated it a few days
previously, and raided Toys R Us for stocking fillers. Then, we got utterly legless on
Christmas Eve and walked off the hangover round a local duck pond the next day. Later,
we got some food from a Chinese supermarket, wondering at all the strange U.F.O.'s
(Unidentified Food Objects) there and enjoying the culture change. Elsewhere, Don's
Spanish or lack of it came into play, in the local Mexican supermarket: he threatened
to make me order the food next time. It was all rather different for me, cosmopolitan,
and fun.
New Year also came and went, wetly. We went to Tied House for a good meal and spent
some time with Linda and Bill, retreating to our own place for the midnight chimes
which we missed by moments. Oh well. A couple of days later we went to see Mars
Attacks!, cashing in a free ticket from a previous Star Trek showing
where the projection just kept going wrong, and had a wonderful evening giggling, along
with a load of other Californians, at the clever send-up of all pulp sci-fi movies
from the 50's. It was the helium balloon that really corpsed me, though.
Bike hunting
I started every day (or afternoon, to be precise; our schedule seemed to get us out of
bed sometime between one and three in the afternoon and into bed for the night anything
up to seven a.m.) by checking the Net to see if there were any appropriate bike ads.
One morning, there was: a 1985 Virago 1000 for sale in Mountain View. I emailed the
guy right away, and had an email in the morning. As promised, Don got out of bed two
hours earlier than usual, and we went to find the bike. The owner, Peter, was waiting
for us in the car park of his apartment block. He was another immigrant: born in New Zealand,
worked in Britain for several years, and was currently working in California. He handed
me the keys right away; the bike started first time. And what a nice, sexy, real-bike
noise it made.
I rode it round the carpark and that was how, one year and a day exactly since I'd
started learning to ride, I took a 1000cc motorcycle home. He got his name, Arnie, not
long after: so named because he's a big guy ;-)
Arnie needed a new back tyre, which we soon arranged and also had one or two
electrical glitches, but nothing major. Peter seemed keen that he be in a good family
and that was guaranteed! I was excited and scared all at the same time and,
by special request, took the bike home on a journey that didn't involve many left-hand
turns across the traffic! We were going to go for a ride but, after filling up, the rain
began again and didn't rest up for another day. I fetched Linda from her apartment and
we grinned about the bike together. She was excited for me and more determined to get
her own machine back on the road; she wanted to know if it was a boy bike or a girl
bike. Definitely a boy bike, I told her. But we never did get a chance to go for a ride
together.
Riding around
I rode Arnie to Pleasanton a time or two, realising quite how confusing the American
road system could be to one who doesn't know it. It's significantly different from the
British one, which I'm beginning to get off pat now, and I missed more than one turning
- though, for someone who's never ridden on the wrong side of the road, I did okay in
that regard. I didn't take the bike up to speed and I had quite a bit of trouble with
the odd-feeling gears until I adjusted to where they were, but the worst adjustment was
coming home and riding my tiny weightless little Katie! Though Arnie was lower to the
ground, he was a lot heavier and larger. Oh well!
On another occasion, we did an early-morning (ie 1a.m.) shopping trip to the local
Safeway (and, for what it's worth, I live in Hitchin almost in the Safeway
carpark: another coincidence.) We loaded up a trolley - and had just that little bit
too much. Technically. I rode home with stuff inside my jacket, two full saddlebags,
stuff bungeed to the luggage rack, and a loose pack of toilet rolls balanced on my tank.
When Don put them there, I just looked at him. He laughed. I was dubious, but
it didn't fall off. Next time, I'll know what does and doesn't fit onto two bikes!
I also did a large amount of rear-seat riding on Arnie, including the previously
mentioned dripping wet ride to the courthouse at Stockton, where Don collected some
documents he needed. Stockton is a dive, an absolute grim dive, and the rain didn't
help one bit. We stopped off for some food and saw another female rider, also soaked,
park her Harley next to Arnie. "Nice!" she grimaced at us in passing. Arnie's rear seat
was very, very comfortable, though. Comfortable enough to house me while I ate
drive-through tacos, anyway!
And I was not the one who tried to move the bike away without taking off the
D-lock!
Despite the rotten weather, we did make a trip out to the coast. We set off on Max,
through the hills above Mountain View where the sun was just setting and looking
incredibly pretty. We headed off for the coast and ended up in a dark, lonely forest.
The trees were immense; there wasn't anyone around and it was quite spooky. Don had to
stop to relieve himself; of course, two or three cars then came by with classic
timing! He told me that the trees were redwoods - the first I'd ever seen. He even took
a picture of me: what came out was a picture of a grinning tourist in black clothing,
pointing into a black background, with no sign of the tree I was pointing at!
We got to the coast around 7pm, and had food and then found a beach which was open.
This involved a scramble which was rather entertaining in full leathers and carrying a
helmet. Somewhere, a fog horn was blowing and there was nobody around. The sea was
moonlit, peaceful. We stood with our backs to it too long and had to move sharpish as a
lively wave rushed in. All quite excellent fun.
I didn't go solo on Arnie - not this time. Or rather, not on a road. One time after I'd
gone with Don to work, he came out to find me gone: playing with my bike in the
carpark, round the various buildings. "Are we having fun yet?"...
The next time, I'll be there in the Summer, and I'm not going back.
I proposed to Don in his cube at work. He proposed back, to even things up. I got
myself a tasteful ring, with some difficulty, about two days before I flew home. Since
then, I've been playing the world's biggest treasure hunt, trying to get the right
documents to emigrate. I'm sure I'll get there in the end... in time for some sunshine,
I hope.
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This page created 25 Apr 1997
Last update 06 Nov 2003
© 1997-2007 White Raven
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