Lane Splitting

In The Skeleton Crew by Stephen King, there is a story called Mrs. Todd’s Shortcut. I haven’t read it since just before Clinton got into the White House, but apparently the story left a deep impression. In the story, Mrs. Todd always looked for the shortest route to where she was going. She would constantly watch the clock and the odometer. Each time she would beat her previous record, until one time she managed to escape the time space continuum all together. When my Mom had Alzheimer’s I took frequent trips to Las Vegas to be with her and my Dad. Each trip I would go faster and faster. I remember holding 135 mph for what seemed like an eternity until the world started looking normal at that speed. When I would slow to 85, it felt like I was crawling. This lasted until I got the trip down to just over 10 hours. Eventually, I sold that car for a Subaru wagon which went dramatically slower. With that car, I took a different route every time and made the trip as slow as possible. I found petroglyphs, hot springs and magical canyons. Both ways gave me a great deal of satisfaction, though the latter burned less gas, was safer and reduced the chance of a speeding ticket significantly. On this journey I have also experienced both extremes. Though Shadowfax’s comfort zone doesn’t allow speeds much faster than 90 mph, I can still burn a lot of pavement in a day. I’m currently on my third back tire and my speedometer decided to quit as I was leaving San Francisco at 10,016 miles.

Driving in a car, I can daydream and take time to look around at the scenery both close and far. On the motorcycle, I have to be completely in the game. Subsequently, I have made a game out of the act of riding itself. Last week I found myself on Highway 1 feeling the urge to pass cars, even ones who were doing the speed limit. I put myself in check and asked why I didn’t just relax and enjoy the view. I realized that the view wasn’t changing much and the road was much too twisty. I changed my focus and the ride became much more enjoyable. P A S S became my mantra. I passed one car, I passed two cars, I passed on straight stretches, I passed on curvy sections. I didn’t pass to get there quicker, I just passed cars because they were there. Eventually, I dipped into the fog and couldn’t ride more than a minute without rubbing the steam off my glasses. My visor was already useless from salt and water inside and out. Just the act of riding was difficult enough.

One last phenomena of note is called lane splitting. In California, if you are on a motorcycle, you can ride between lanes of traffic. “Those guys are idiots,” I remember my Dad saying when we would visit California when I was little. It took me a good week of California riding before I became one of those idiots, but when I broke down and tried it, I experienced a rush I had never felt. It feels like skiing or snowboarding in the trees, only the trees are moving. As with any thing this intense, I will practice moderation.

My last week-plus with Cass has caused me to slow down significantly and once again I am taking time to look at the things around me. We have backpacked in the redwoods, fallen asleep to the sound of the waves and enjoyed a bluegrass festival in San Francisco. I’m enjoying both worlds, though sometimes the transitions are surprisingly noticeable to me and those around me.

Now I’m in Ventura with Cass staying at a friend’s house for a few days. Then I’m not sure where. Maybe I’ll head down to San Diego and complete my stretch from the Canadian border to the Mexico border