(Day 2, the end)
Just East of Vegas, I got some gas and set up my laptop to see where I was: nearly to Boulder City. It was too far to Williams to make it before it was completely dark, so Boulder City would be my stop for the night. I ate some road food: beef jerky and granola bars, then started to look for a room.
I came into Boulder City at sunset and pulled up to a motel.
I have to admit, renting a room near Vegas seemed weird. I know that stereotypes are rarely accurate, but the idea of being in a city where rooms are regularly rented by the hour made me wonder about staying here.
As I parked the bike at the motel, there was a recumbent bicycle with a trailer parked out front. I recognized that bike. When I stopped for gas, I watched as a person rode that bike past the gas station. It was being pedaled by a wiry and sun-hardened woman who might have been 50, but looked 70. The hair was the give-away… it was still dark brown with wisps of gray beginning. The proprietor and another man were discussing her.
“Oh yeah, she’s in trouble… no idea where she is or where she is going, or how to get there,” Said the man behind the counter. His assessment of her was eerily close to describing me. The man behind the counter was probably the manager. He had the hair that was short, but sculpted up with gel. He had a wide mouth prone to smile quirkily.
“Right, but are we just going to make her sleep outside?” said the other man who was leaning forward on the counter like a figure from an old Western, you know, the man leaning into the bar. I think he was the grounds man, “I can watch her, she can clean for a room.”
“Alright, but just a few nights, at most.”
“Good by me.” The groundsman smiled.
The manager turned to me and smiled, “Do you want a room?.”
“I do, as a matter of fact, how much? I only need a bed and a shower, so your cheapest room will do.”
“My cheapest is $45.” He said.
I considered trying to argue the rate lower since it was 8:30 already and the place had plenty of open rooms, but I decided this was my best place to stop and the rate wasn’t out of line. “Done.” I said and started filling out the form.
“Are you here to play or on a trip?” asked the groundsman.
“Actually, I am traveling. I am on a motorcycle trip from Santa Cruz to Auburn, Alabama.”
“Geez!’ the manager looked up from his forms, “What convinced you to do that?”
I looked out at by bike parked in front of the office. Across the parking lot was the recumbent bike with the trailer. “I realized I was becoming predictable.” I looked back at the manager and the groundsman.
They didn’t say anything but their faces told me that they knew exactly what I meant. I wonder if this is a normal desire in men to not be the same as everyone else. I wondered, then, and still do, “What is it within us that makes us want to be just outside the norm?” We don’t want to be really weird or bazaar, but just different.
I know this is not a firm generalization. I have known many men who want to be predictable and respectable. I think I want to be dependable, although I fall short, and I want to be honorable, short again, but I am not attracted to the idea of the white paladin who is the knightly version of Dudley Do Right. The ideal me, in my mind, is a good man who is a little bit of a rascal. I would like to be a man that can do something wild and unexpected. I kind of want people to wonder about me.
The bike I bought is outside the norm. The way I bought the bike is unusual as well. The trip is certainly not the way many have traveled the country. This whole adventure is about shaking it up, but why do we need to shake it up? Why do I need to?
I think the spirit of a man is romantic and adventurous. We go to the same job, drive the same car, pay our bills, make sure the garbage can was not left at the curb over night and all the while we know in the depths of our mind that we have just wasted minutes of our lives by being what everyone else wants. We need to risk and fight and possibly loose. Too often we play it safe and predictable and have not taken any risk… by playing it safe we are killing the romantic warrior inside us.
The woman with the bike came in at that moment as we are all just standing there, deep in thought. I had the feeling that the same spirit was on her… that sense that there was a person desperate to save the adventurer within. I felt that there could be a kinship here in this thin and wrinkled woman. I wanted to ask her why she was here, but then I thought I’d rather believe the best; that she was on her own quest for adventure.
I took the room and rode the bike back to the rear of the parking lot. There was a large gardenia bush on the way back to the room. It smelled wonderful. It was the first smell on this trip that reminded me of the Southland. The sun was completely behind the mountains by now and the sky was a rich red. The rocky landscape reflected the color of the sky. I sat there, on the back of the motel site, and watched the desert glow until the suns light faded.
The room was a 1 bed affair with a Jacuzzi completely flanked with mirrors. Vegas.
The room was clean and quite, though and I spent a night of deep sleep.
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