Eric and I headed to North Georgia. Pertinent information: We needed to be at a storage unit near Eric’s father’s (Mr. Fred) house because the community that his father lives in does not allow motorcycles. Mr. Fred was kind enough to find us a place to park, which was a storage unit. The storage unit facility has a fence around the perimeter that the owners lock up at 6 p.m. It isn't a fancy place with a coded entry so that you can get in at any time, like most storage units. We had to leave very early and on time to ensure that we could make it to the storage unit before it closed down for the night.
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| 100,000 Miles Achieved |
There are many adjectives that one could use to describe me, but I think disorganized ranks the highest (maybe forgetful is tied for most relevant). I often work very hard organizing my life, but I have more often than not failed at organizing.
December has been a roller coaster of a month for personal and work related reasons. I will preface in saying that I’m not excusing my disorganization and general forgetfulness; rather, I’m detailing how I folly. The week leading into my trip, I had an explosion of work, personal fun, and endeavors. I wanted to leave New Orleans and head towards Baton Rouge around 5:30 p.m., but through timing, last minute cleaning and packing I didn’t leave until 7:30 p.m.
I had all the items I needed for the trip organized on my chair. I began loading up my car, and on the second trip of lugging the luggage to my car, I thought, “You got everything now get moving!” I closed my trunk, hopped in my car, and was off to visit with my brother for 30 minutes.
Pleasantries provided and back in my car head to Baton Rouge to start another adventure! About 30 seconds from Eric’s house, I think, “Did I pack my riding pants?” The reassuring part of my brain said, “You are just being paranoid. You never forget the important gear, the necessary gear.” Wrong. The part of your brain that reminds you of things was, as usual, two hours late in reminding me to do one last check of my apartment to see if I forgot anything. Stupid brain. I forgot my pants. I could ride in jeans, but for maximum protection my pants are needed.
When Eric and I see each other just before the trip we turn into two teenage girls. “I packed this and this I was going to pack this did you see the route I haven’t decided what way is the best did you get the maps this is going to be so much fun.” It is a series of run-on sentences between the two of us. In the midst of overlapping talking at each other, I mentioned my pants failure. In true Eric fashion, “O.K., we can leave 30 minutes earlier to go to New Orleans so you can get your pants.” Instead, of dwelling on the problem, he is always trying to “re-route” and find a solution.
This is the tip of the debacle iceberg.
I woke up at 4:45 a.m. in a panic. I’ve been having problems with my motorcycle battery, due to some wiring issue that I need a mechanic to check. I haven’t had any problems since I changed the battery several months back. However, that same delayed brainnag prompted me to check if my motorcycle would start. I went outside put in the key, and the lights turned on, meters where reading all the techno stuff, I hit the starter button, and . . . I hear the painful sound of click, click, click, the sound of a low battery, not the glorious roar of riding possibilities. Facepalm. Playing musical cars, I move my car next to my bike and charge up the bike’s battery. I pack up my motorcycle, start getting dressed, then notice something vitally important missing from my luggage. I turn to Eric, and asked, “What is the one thing that a motorcyclist has to have above everything else?”
His face turns ashen and a look of disappointment/frustration/worry travels across his eyes, and replies, “A helmet. . . You forgot your helmet. . .?
Eyes cast down, “Yeah.”
“Of all the things to forget.”
“I know.”
“You can grab my extra helmet.”
“I also forgot my gloves.”
“Really!? Anything else?”
“Don’t think so.”
“Are you sure?”
“No.”
“. . .”
Things were rapidly going downhill and the depth of this debacle were beginning to show itself, but it was not over.
My motorcycle started up fine once I charged it up, and I was feeling confident that it just needed a little juice (that is the technical term, right?), and now it was fully charged up. I pulled it out next to Eric’s in the driveway and turned it off to finish getting ready.
Gear loaded, gear on, and on time. We were going to make our estimated leave time! I turn my key, all looks to be working. I hit the start button and. . . click,click,click. &*%$^#$@#*!!!!!!!! Fill in the blanks as you will because I’m sure you can figure out what was rolling off my tongue.
I look to Eric and it takes him a moment to realize what is going on. Eric’s car is closer, so I run into his house, grab his car key, and move the car close to my motorcycle. Eric runs to the gas station to put air in his tires, and I set about starting my motorcycle. While he is gone, I cannot find the battery in his car. He has a Mini Cooper, and the battery is not evident. I’m becoming more flustered. Eric pulls up, and I ask him where is the battery. He doesn’t know. I say, “Screw it, I’ll just pull up my car.”
In that moment, the mother of Eric’s daughter calls. Eric forgot to pack his daughter’s medication, and she needs it. I wish I was making all of this up.
He needs to travel a little out of the way, but needs to leave right at that moment to get the medication to her. I tell him to go on, and we can meet at the Clearview Mall in an attempt to make up time.
It starts drizzling, but my motorcycle started within seconds of me connecting the jumper cables and starting my car. I know the battery will get recharged on the journey, so I am not worried. As I was removing the cables, I forgot to stop the car, and burned my thumb. Haste creates injuries.
Not caring, I put my seat back on, played musical cars, and hopped on to my BMW R1200 GS- my favorite toy ever. I was finally on the road. There was no rain on the interstate, just directly over Eric’s house as I’m trying to jump my motorcycle and leave. The Universe uses me to get a laugh.
I race to my apartment, making good time, even though we are starting later than planned. I get to my apartment, put my appropriate gear on, and head back to Clearview Mall to meet up with Eric. The last layer to the overarching debacle is that it took me 15 minutes longer to meet up with him because I got stuck behind the slowest drivers in the world. I think this was a team of record holders following together like a herd of cows.
We finally head off on our journey at 9:15 a.m., but Eric wanted to be in Mobile, Alabama by 9:30 a.m. So, we were way off time, but we were riding and the frustration slowly languishing away.
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| The Parking Spot |
Epilogue Bullet Points to Day 1:
-We made up time by staying around 80 m.p.h., and only stopping for gas
-We actually made the 6 p.m. deadline with 25 minutes to spare (see pic above)
-I think Atlanta traffic has by-passed my hatred for Dallas traffic
-My motorcycle reached 100,000 miles on this day. Until I ramble on again. . .
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