El Matador

Now from the moment we left the Dragon, we basically just had a looong, boring, straight ride to Dallas. Since it was to be the hardest part of the trip, we had originally planned to break it up in three days. He-man’s oil leak and delays in getting the bike had delayed our schedule a full day. This left us with a little over 900 miles to do in a day and a half.

It was about 8:30pm when we finally got on the  worst highway in America: I-40. The only way I can accurately describe I-40 is basically playing frogger at 90 mph between strung out Semi’s that are ALL RUNNING RE-TREADS. Every few hundred yards you would see the carcass of a blown out tyre. Seriously, 95% of the traffic on that highway is composed of Semi’s. At one point I thought I was trapped in some greek legend; I-40 was my Hydra and every time that I would pass a Semi, two more would spring in its place.

We had already been riding all day. The physical and psychological toll of riding the Dragon several times was pretty apparent. Also the knowledge that we had to make it to Dallas by the next day was beating on me like a hammer. When you add crazy semis and blowout paranoia, you get the recipe for a killer headache.

I suffer from migraines, but this one was one of the worst I have ever experienced. I made it as far as Nashville before the migraine was inhibiting my eyesight so much that I couldn’t go on. Lucrece thought I falling asleep, but when I pulled into the parking lot of the cheapest motel I could find and collapsed on the floor, she knew something was wrong. I had to spend about 20 minutes lying on the asphalt of the parking lot before the pain was bearable enough to where I could walk to the front desk and check in.

I had picked a really classy joint. The place was called Knight’s Inn, and was 30 dollars a night for the room. I could barely speak, so I just nodded while the receptionist took my ID and Credit Card to process. The whole lobby smelled of stale cigarettes and acetone, and the receptionists nasal tone of voice was forcing a jackhammer through my eye socket. Worse still was the rhythmic smacking of the bubblegum it was chewing, it smiled at me with cigarette stained teeth and fuchsia painted eyes that failed to convey an aura of youth it no longer had. All I could do was stare blankly at it. To it, I’m sure I looked like the rest of the crackheads that stay there for drug induced binges. I contemplated putting it out of it’s misery, but the migraine was still going strong, and I didn’t feel up to do it.

I somehow crawled to the room she assigned us and promptly went into a comatose state, the last thought in my head before it all went black was that it was still 750 miles to Dallas.

The next morning, we woke up to a frightening thought. We had 750 miles to cover and a day to do it. We were mentally exhausted even before we started. We put on our earplugs and took off. I usually like to listen to Led or Muse when I’m riding, but I needed something that would take me on a long haul, so I decided that some classical was in order. A Beethoven’s 5th pandora station later, we were on the move.

The route we took basically said one thing, take I 40 until you reach Little Rock, then turn left. That’s exactly what we did. That was the only turn the entire time. It was terrible.

We had a quick stop in Memphis to eat, we had some pretty good BBQ and kept on going, from now on it would be no stops until Forth Worth and our friend’s place. I40 is the single patch of asphalt that I hate the most on this planet it goes on FOREVER, and there is not a single turn in the entire thing.

Mile after mile after mile after mile afer mile afder mioler aftrmile afmile asfmeirlsmafouashfiun.

That was the process of my brain’s basic functions shutting off in order to be able to endure it. Everything became a thing of repetition: Stop, lift gas cap, put in gas, close gas cap, thumb starter, turn right wrist, get on highway, go 150 miles, repeat. It really was that simple. Have you ever had insomnia? I usually don’t sleep. When I get to about the 3rd day without sleeping everything turn a little surreal. Chuck Palahniuk explains it best in his book: Everything is a copy of a copy of a copy. That is exactly the way this felt. It was scary to think of how much my brain was turned off.

At some point we entered Arkansas, but I’m not really sure when or where it was. There was a point where Lucrece was getting really tired behind me, at a gas station I offered to zip tie her to me so she could sleep. It was getting to where really stupid ideas started to sound good.

Somewhere in Arkansas I pull over for some gas. Right behind me a pulls in a cop with his lights on. He immediately gets out and comes over.

Cop: Son, did you not see me with the lights behind you?

El Matador: Uh… No….

C: License  and Insurance.

EM(As I hand over my license): We just got this thing and the insurance as well, but we don’t have a hard copy of the insurance papers. I can get an electronic one on my Iphone if you wish.

C(As he walks to his car): Go ahead and do that.

1  minute later the Police officer comes up with a very concerned look on his face: Son, where did you get that license plate?

(I need to make a quick intervention here. Do you guys remember how Lucrece never got the plates from the mechanic? Well, we never got around to shipping them to NYC either. When getting ready to leave He-man’s place, I jokingly asked if he had any others. He came out with three of ‘em and told me to pick one and don’t ask questions. Better than riding without a plate I thought at the time…. )

EM: Eeeerm, it came with the bike?

C: I’m gonna need to see the bill of sale.

Em: Baby?

Desmolu: OH SHIT! It must have stayed with the luggage that we shipped to our friend.

C: What about that insurance?

DL: Im sorry, but I’m trying to pull up the document and it’s not working; rural AR doesn’t have 3G

C: So let me get this straight, you guys are riding a bike with no bill of sale, no proof of insurance, and a fake plate? What do you expect me to do?

EM: Eeerm (Visions of butt-pounding federal prisons in my head.)

C: do you know where the VIN is?

(I show him and he goes to his cruiser to check it out)

Officer comes back from cruiser with a steel-eyed gaze, looks me straight in the eyes and says: Ok the VIN checks out, I’m not gonna write you for the speeding, but I will have to write you for the no proof of insurance. Since you say you have it and I don’t doubt you do, all you have to do is mail it here and we’ll take it off. Oh, and I’ll have to confiscate that plate of yours. Consider it a gift. You’d be in jail if it was any other officer. Have a good night and ride safe.

EM: Huh?….. thanks….good night…

Damn that was a close one.

Pumped full of adrenaline, we ride the five or so remaining hours to Dallas pretty wired. Our friend receives us at around 2 AM, with a big smile and says we’re insane. I have never seen a more welcoming sight. I get off the bike but remain bowlegged. We had been riding for 17 hours.