Random Stuff

Appeasing the Motorcycle Gods ... 19 Feb 08

This morning, I rode to work. In the rain. Twice.

Let me explain:

But first, here is the Cliff Notes version of this post for those of you who have better things to do.

This morning I realized I left my backpack at home, so I rode back and got it. The end.

And now, the unabridged version, featuring musings on the tenacious hold that motorcycling has on my psyche, along with flashes of puckish wit and sporadic silliness:

This past weekend was a long one. I had three entire days off during which to decompress, sleep, carouse, get stuff done around the house, and ride. However, as is its wont, time got away from me and for one reason or another, I failed to get any riding done this weekend at all.

Yes, that's right. A mostly sunny three-day weekend, and my bike remained securely in the garage. For reasons that I won't elaborate, mainly because any mention of the nature of my "alternative lifestyle" -- which in my case is really not a coy euphemism -- would distract from the focus of this narrative, it was both logistically and psycho-emotionally impossible for me to participate in any of the group rides that were on offer.

So this morning at 8:10 am, for the first time in four days, I suited up and rode off to work. Traffic was fierce, or as fierce as it ever gets in Alameda. Lane-splitting all the way, I got through the Posey Tube, then zipped to the bottom of the carpool-lane ramp leading to the Bay Bridge toll plaza, when suddenly a wayward neuron sent an electrical message, the content of which was as follows: "Did you remember to put your backpack in the topcase?"

A micro-instant later, another neuron answered with, "Gee whiz, I think I might not have. It's probably still sitting on the sidewalk outside the garage where I left it while I was getting the bike out."

A mini-moment later, a third neuron chimed in with, "Hey, you just passed the entrance to the parking lot, where you could have turned around, you putz." So off over the Bay Bridge I went, dodging wet Botts dots (it had just started to rain), oil spots, and of course the ubiquitous work trucks and Prii that make the Bay Bridge commute such a delight.

Once in San Francisco, I followed my usual route along Folsom St. When the light at the Embarcadero turned red, I decided to pull over in front of Crunch Gym and check the topcase. No backpack. Shit. Fuck. Although there was someone at home whom I could have called to verify whether the bag was still where I left it, my phone was -- you guessed it -- in my backpack, along with my wallet, medication, lunch, etc. And even if I had been able to find a functioning pay phone, the fact that my cell phone was sitting (I hoped) in a bright yellow bag on an Alameda sidewalk meant that I didn't have his number anyway.

And so it came to pass that I rode all the way back home. In the rain. Despite my Aerostich and my Gerbing liner and gloves, I was fairly damp and miserable by the time I got there, but fortunately the bag was still sitting right where I left it. Goddess bless Alameda.

Went inside, changed into some dry jeans and socks, phoned work, then discovered that someone had left a voicemail the day before. I checked it and discovered that it was a call-back from a job I had applied for last week -- a job right there in Alameda! Buoyed by this bit of good fortune, I rode back to San Francisco -- in, of course, the rain -- and engaged my ganglia in pondering what this all meant.

This is probably as good a time as any to mention that I'm not a particularly superstitious or spiritual person. The only reason I carry a nazar boncuk* in my bag is that it simply belongs there. And I come from a long line of godless heathens, so the whole Deity thing is just not my cup of chai.

However. Isn't it ironic (don't you think?) that this occurred right after a weekend during which I should have been riding my ass off, but didn't ride at all? My bike, that is. (Insert double-entendre here.) It's almost as if some malicious imp or sprite had implanted into my brain the idea that in some cosmic accounting of miles ridden, I was getting overdrawn. I had never forgotten my backpack before, and although it would be easy to impute this to either (a) the long time that had elapsed since I had gone to work, or (2) creeping old age, it still amuses me to think that the Motorcycle Gods made me do it. This doesn't explain the Alameda job thing, but I can only ponder one ineffable mystery at a time, thank you very much.

So, kids, the moral of the story is: next time you have a long weekend, don't not ride, because otherwise you might have to ride over the Bay Bridge in the rain. Twice.

* a Turkish good-"luck" charm consisting of a blue glass disc bearing the image of a blue eye