The crushing defeat was over. The ride back to Ventura almost seemed normal. It was another day to get things done, but the world was quiet — at least when we knew what we were doing.
Zach, per usual, saved my ass … on one of his few days off from being an essential worker at Target.
My motorcycle had been temporarily adopted by Johnny, the owner of 5 Day Tire Stores, the business I had broken down at when stopping to ask for directions.
Johnny offered me not only a place to house my vehicle at no cost, but also advice. He and the other motor-men recommended that I rent a U-Haul truck with a ramp and tie-downs to cut the costs of my return journey. It was brilliant advice. They told me they could keep the bike tucked away for as long as I needed.
On the day of the breakdown, 2 hours and $176 later, I had escaped Ventura via Lyft. Natalie offered to pay for the entirety of the ride, but conscience would only allow us to split the cost. I always wonder if it’s more rude to decline offered help or to take it …
During the ride home I was busy having a breakdown of my own. I didn’t have a single fucking clue what to do — about any of it. Do I rent a car, flip the bird to the bike on my way to New York, and press on with my plans? Could I rent a car? Do I pull the plug and fight to get my money back from hotels and airlines? What about my work? What about the cost of getting the bike back? And getting it fixed if there was some fatal flaw?
I reached out to those I knew would have answers for a young journalist wondering what the hell to do — my professors. My mind was quickly made up. I thought I would adapt, and head for Los Angeles and San Francisco — yet again, plans would fall through. Despite being able to rent a U-Haul, a behemoth I had never driven before, not a single rental car company I got in touch with was willing to rent to someone under 25.
I had to tell a story, however.
So, here we are.
Zach, in his car, awaiting take off. Shot of Fujifilm Instax Mini Monochrome Film.
Zach and I had to wait through the weekend closure of Santa Maria Harley, which went through Monday. A few days before heading back to Ventura I had been speaking with a maintenance worker, named Nacho, who I often said hello to around my apartment complex. I told he and Kaitlyn, the woman who works at the front desk at my complex, about the recent mishap with my bike.
Nacho offered to help me with retrieving my bike by loading it into his work truck. A gesture so selfless I was nearly brought to tears.
He explained that he “understood how tight money was, given the circumstances the Corona virus had dealt” to nearly everyone, including himself, and that if he could offer assistance to someone in need, he would.
Unfortunately, on the day, Nacho got cold feet and told me he was hesitant to go to Ventura because of the stay-at-home orders, something I could certainly understand — the thought alone was appreciated. We scrambled. I had reserved a U-Haul just in case this happened.
Two hours later and we were replacing the battery on my bike and picking up the U-Haul rental.
I had never driven a vehicle like that in my life, much less with another vehicle secured inside of it. Johnny and friends set all hands on deck to ensure my road-readiness.
A 5 Day Tire Stores employee who lent me tools to initially try and fix my bike just after we got my bike ready for travel.
I wish I could thank Johnny and his crew with my consistent patronage, but Zach and I settled on a case of Tecate, which we had learned through his staff was his favorite beer.
When we were back on the highway it was us against time. The dealership was set to close right upon our arrival. Despite Zach’s protest out of concern for my safety, we rode the back of the 154 snake, U-Haul and all.
We ditched the bike at the dealership. The road seemed more open when we returned to it, though I still dreaded receiving an outrageous estimate. I decided to catalog the rest of my worries for later — this stupid ass part of growing up was done for the day. It was time to fill up the U-Haul and return it.
Zach standing with the U-Haul as the tank fills with gas.
We stopped at a Costco for gas. As the tank filled I stared at a dead house across the street. The windows were either smashed in or boarded up, the white paint nearly ash, and parts of the roof were sinking. I thought, as many would, of how many days like this must have come and gone through the doors of that house — of when it was a home, but wasn’t appreciated. Now, here it is, at the end of its life. Nothing left to give but mere indifference.
It’ll be reclaimed or repurposed to the point where you couldn’t even tell it had ever had any days.
I thought of my recent frustrations and took in the silky clean air — the scent of safety. I thought of all the help I had been given and offered to get through this ordeal.
I knew I had a story to tell.
