True to form, I had ridden 400 miles my first day out, arriving in
Washington, DC only 200 miles away. I was staying with my friend Paul Sears, a
world class drummer, whom I met thru Stu. They had met in college, and had
talked Stu’s dad, a dentist, into supporting their dream for a year, while
dropping out of school. Neither ended up going back, Paul moved back home and
played locally, and Stu and his dad got arrested in one of the largest drug
busts on the East Coast. And both did time. God’s timing on my leaving was
great, as I knew many of those arrested, and may have gone down with them by
being a known associate. This was a big deal, as it made the front page of the
NY Daily News, and the drug pipeline from Florida to New York was interrupted
for weeks. Paul had moved back in with his parents, and sister, Marianne, and
they lived in this huge old house where their side of the street was Chevy
Chase, Maryland, and the other side Washington, DC. The trip was boring except
for being paced by a cop in Baltimore, who pulled me over and tried to bully me
for going 58 in a 55. When I asked for his sergeant, he got upset, and like I
told him, “we both were there, I’m sure he would like to hear why you waited so
long, and were traveling over the speed limit yourself.”
From a 30 degree morning leaving, I would spend the next day in DC riding
around on bicycles in the 80’s. It was beautiful, and Paul took me all kinds of
places tourists don’t get to see, and we even got in to see the pandas at
feeding time, who were on loan from China. Great day, great time, and great
friends. But I found out the next morning why they call it Stormy Monday, and
why Tuesday can be just as bad. We had stopped for donuts before I left, and
when I came out, the bike would go into gear, but not move, and it made some
horrible noises. And in the era of bike shops closed on Monday, it would be
Tuesday until I could get it to Capital Cycles, and almost a week later until I
would head south. The driveshaft bolts had come loose, which could have
happened at speed, but didn’t, God again was watching out for me. But I spent
that night out drinking heavily, with Marianne, in her new Chevette. And got
very sick from it. The drinking. No way to impress a pretty girl who next year
would be in Playboy, July 1976. But she was kind and took care of me, while my
bike was nursed back to health. Paul was a real friend, good people we used to
call them, and I heard from him for a while after I left. If ever again in
Washington....
Now the I-95 corridor wasn’t completed yet, it was more like the Jersey
Turnpike, I-95, IS 1,17,301, and I-16 corridor. So it was slow going, and my
destination that night was Gainesville, Florida to see my old girlfriend. But a
new section of 95 had just opened-no cops or any traffic, and I raced along at
over 100 for a while. Speeds the road and my R90S were both designed for, just
not legal. And I made the 810 mile ride in great time, including a late lunch
at South of the Border. Pedro sez...and I was off.
Now Paula and I had been boyfriend and girlfriend for four years, then
broke off when she went to school. And we reconnected after I got saved, and
she fell in love with the new, improved Mike. She had an apartment with some
other girls, but I was welcome, on the couch, my choice, not hers, for the two
nights. It was odd watching them get high without me, but I had no desire, and
while they studied, I sat on the sofa and read my Bible. The next day while she
was in class, I went by the local BMW shop, where they informed me Butler and
Smith knew about the engine problems, and were repairing them under warranty.
Good luck getting my money back, besides Jersey was in my rear view mirrors, not
ahead over the handlebars. It was nice and warm, as Florida should be, and the
weather down had been comfortable, but the next day would be my last day of good
riding weather. So saying our good byes, we would keep in contact, but we would
never see each other again, my new life headed west.
Now Florida is almost like two different states, snow birds and blue haired
old ladies south of West Palm, and rednecks across the panhandle. I was going
west on I-10, when I was stopped in DeFuniak Springs for speeding. Seems the
revenue enhancer who stopped me saw my Pennsylvanian plates and wanted to add to
their coffers. Also I was scared, as we had been forced to leave Fort
Lauderdale the year before, when our apartment was raided. I was clean, but
what would the record show? I was let go with just a ticket, and told to appear
in court on November 31st. When I wrote the court from Albuquerque that no
November 31st existed, I never heard back. Either the cop had goofed it, or
done it on purpose, either way I was clean, clear air to New Orleans.
Now having been in New Orleans in extreme heat and humidity just three
months earlier, I was expecting Florida weather. Hey, I was still on the Gulf,
and it was pleasant until the sun went down, and all the humidity turned to fog
and a biting cold. I was staying with another friend, Ronny Cohen, a medical
student at Tulane, and his girlfriend’s parents were planning a big dinner for
me. Now start with a new area, in the dark, add fog,and the accent of his
girlfriend, William David Parkway sounded like Wiggin David, and I was late, by
only an hour and a half, trying to find Wiggin David. So close, yet so far.
But they were gracious, the roast beef hot, and Ronny showed me New Orleans much
like Paul had shown me Washington. I ate a Po’Boy, beignets, café au lait, and
came within inches of meeting Paul McCartney and his band Wings. They had done
a concert the night before in Fat City, and when we went to breakfast, parked in
back of a limo. Smiling faces waved from inside, and we nodded hello back.
Inside all the talk was that an ex-Beatle , Paul had just left in the limo out
front. Paulie had waved to me, for him just “A Day in the Life,” for us
conversation for the meal. After a great two days with the future Dr. Cohen to
be, I was heading towards Houston, and then head north on US 287 to Amarillo.
No more friends until Albuquerque, I was riding alone in the cold, but never
lonely. I had been inside the Beltway, inside the limo, a college campus, and
done the Big Easy. Texas weather would change everything... good thing I knew
God, and He was with me.
to be continued.
love with compassion,
Mike
matthew25biker.blogspot.com