The road to Reno stretches far ahead of us, but we all wish it is even further away then it is. I glance back. Style is working on his book, The Game. Every once in a while he reads a sentence to get some feedback. I'm sitting on the side bench staring through the darkly tinted windows at the passing space. We're in the limo.
Just a few months ago Style told me he was going to get an SUV to carry his surfboards. Always at odds with the beaten path, I persuade him to buy a 120" stretch caddilac limo instead. They're cheap on ebay. A day after he agrees to buy it we're in Houston driving it back to LA. I like people who are impulsive. It turns out to be a fabulous surf car, and a pretty great road trip vehicle at the same time.
Driving at the moment is Cliff, one of Style's friends. A somewhat macho guy who is the head bouncer at a hot Hollywood nightclub, he's the nicest guy in the world once you get to know him. They're doing a movie or TV show or something about pro dirt bike riders, and we're on our way to Reno to meet them and watch them ride. Always looking for an adventure to lay waste to my free time, I'm along for the ride.
"Ok, now when you pull up to the gas station, before you fill up come open the door for Tynan and I."
It's Cliff's first time driving. We have a little tradition where whoever is driving opens the doors for the people in the back. It's not a huge deal, but it's a small touch that makes riding in the limo even more fun.
He didn't know that it was the "house rule", so to speak.
"I'm not doing it. I'm not your bitch. You open your own door."
Style and I look at each other.
"Dude, it's just for fun. No one's saying you're anyone's bitch. Just like when I was driving I opened the door for you and Tynan," argues Style.
"Well, from now on I'll open my own door," replies Cliff, "You don't have to be my bitch, and I don't want to be yours."
"It's not that big of a deal," I offer, "It's just for fun."
"I don't think it's fun. I think it makes me a bitch."
"Are you THAT insecure in your masculinity that you think that opening a door makes you a bitch?" asks Style. There's a reason he's a great pickup artist.
We continue to argue as the opera lights of the limo whiz by the mile markers. Style and I are having a good time, but Cliff has serious moral quandries about opening the door for us. We actually call Cliff's wife to discuss the subject. She agrees with Style and I.
Finally Style and I come up with an idea.
"Do you think that the dirt bike riders are bitches?" Style asks.
"Of course not. They're men. And I GUARANTEE YOU none of them would ever open a limo door for anyone."
I know where he's going with this.
Style continues, "I bet that all of them are so secure they would open the limo door and not think twice about it."
Within seconds a bet is made. If the majority of the dirt bike riders agree with Cliff, Style and I will each squeeze through the partition separating the chauffer from the passengers and exit through the front door. If the riders can agree that it's possible to open the doors for the passengers without becoming a bitch, then Cliff must open the left door for me and the right door for Style every time we stop.
Everyone satisfied that they've made a good bet, the limo lumbers on. There's silence - everyone's thinking about the bet.
Ten minutes later we pull up to the gas station.
"It's your limo. It's not that big of a deal."
Cliff opens the doors for us and we exit like gentlemen. We never asked the riders their opinion, but I have a hunch Cliff made a good decision.
Style's comment about Cliff being insecure in his masculinity wasn't just a good manipulation tactic, it was probably the truth. Cliff probably doesn't have a lot going for him, so he likely takes great pride in the fact that at least he's macho. And when you question that, he freaks. It's understandable, but also a little sad.
That was a juicy tidbit. Such individuals should have their own stenographer; I would have liked to see how the conversation went. It's always interesting how one might turn a sexually intended method into a non-sexual method. Although, I guess, MM itself begins non-sexually.
Here in dutchonia, you need an entire bmx course just to park a limo. Not to say that we have humongous limo's, we just have small bmx courses.
I may have to add an asterisk to the saying that buying things can't make you happy. I bought a motorcycle, and I'll be damned if it hasn't made me one percent happier than I used to be. Then again, we all know that spending money on experiences can make you happy. A motorcycle isn't just a vehicle to move you from place to place-- it's an experience every time you ride it.
My brother has loved motorcycles for as long as I can remember. So has my uncle. But despite "the disease" obviously mixed up in my blood, I never really thought twice about riding a motorcycle. It was sort of like stamp collecting to me-- something other people do, and obviously derive some sort of pleasure from, but I hadn't given it more than a passing thought.
Last December, for some reason or another, I thought that it would be novel for all of my vehicle registrations, inspections, licenses, etc. to be legal and up to date. I drove my RV back to Texas to renew the registration and get inspected, made sure the insurance was current, and paid off old tickets. The only remaining infraction I was guilty of was driving my folding scooter without a motorcycle license, which is required in California.
Here are a few epic moto & mtn bike rides I've taken recently.
The thing I love about my BMW G650 Xchallenge bike is its incredible versatility. I was literally at Pismo Beach last weekend doing this on the bike:
Yeah, same bike! The only modification I made was putting MacGyver-style hose pieces on the back tire for additional traction in the sand: