“We should go for it, it’s only 20 miles.” Those were the words I spoke out loud before I traveled down the treacherous road ahead. Those were going to be the last words I would ever get to speak to another human. I unknowingly was riding towards death.
We were well into a month long trip across the country. Living on two wheels, and traveling north along the pacific coastline towards Canada. My riding compadre was Chris Fuqua. Motorcycle enthusiast, adventurer, and a man who appreciates the simplicity of a strong campfire, cheap beer, and the ability to be able to take it all in with natural no filler silence. So Far the ride from Texas was full of the promised independence that one hopes for upon embarking this kind of epic journey. Life in this moment was about freedom and the search for adventure. We were waking in a different town or state every few days. Drinking beers by the campfire with millions of stars above us, our machines not far in the background. Living life on a whim and I was enjoying every second of blissful abandonment. No appointments. No reservations.
But here we were on the redwood highway discussing our options in front of a tucked away gas station like so many times before. We had failed to secure a campsite. We probably scoured every campground across the entire Redwoods State Park, just to be turned away by park ranger after park ranger. We decided to cut our loses and head onto the next city. We were on our way to Canada after all, so adding more miles under the wheels was all part of the grand scheme of things. No big deal. So I thought.
So what’s 20 miles? We had been traveling 300 miles daily, hell, even 800 miles in a day at times. Again, so what’s another 20 miles? It’s like a stroll out to your front door.
The kickstands flew up and we went roaring down the redwoods highway. The next town over was Crescent City, CA. The road was scenic with giant redwoods dwarfing us and shortly after taking off, the trees opened up to our left and we saw the pacific ocean below us as we rode along the Cliffside. The smell of the ocean in the air hits you hard as you barrel down the curvy highway. Even better, our view was the sun sharing its last remaining light over the water before giving up its throne to the darkness and the moon. This was living.
As soon as we passed the opening along the Cliffside we were surrounded by the towering trees again. And in instant, we were covered in complete darkness. Almost like if someone flicked off a light switch. The temperature started to drop and droplets of water began to accumulate on my visor. My eyes adjusted and my body and grip tensed up at the sudden change. Light rain hit us and the roads were slick and wet. The worst of it all was the fog. Patches of dense low fog covered the road like an old horror b-movie. Now this wasn’t some strait smooth typical highway. This was a scenic road through the state park with curves and mountainous climbs and drops. To top it all off, the icing on death’s cake as I would say, was the construction on the roads. I don’t know who decided that it was a good idea to put loose gravel on every fucking curve of every climb and drop, especially over a damn cliff! I would feel my back wheel slide around every time I took a curve. Chris was riding behind me and in my mind I knew if I ate it, I would take him out too. We both would go sliding towards the cliff and down to a watery death below. Or crash into one of the giant redwood trees along the dense forest, dying a slow death with our broken bodies bleeding out. I remember Chris talking about the fear he had of those scenarios and how if he happen to kill me by running me over, he would, and I quote “push my body and bike over the Cliffside, I don’t think I could face your family to explain how you survived the fall but it was me who killed you.” Thanks man, I think I would do the same. Friendship.
Did I mention this was only a 20 mile run down the road? Time felt like limbo and I didn’t feel any progress. My body was fully tense and running on adrenaline. Then, like the end of days, I looked up at the break in the trees that followed along the highway and I swear I saw the sky turn red. I don’t know if it was out of fear or adrenaline or what. I just remember looking up at this ominous red sky. I thought to myself, “am I in hell?? Did I miss a corner and I am dead??” Or was this what happens when you foresee your own death. I’ll tell you what, that didn’t exactly create any confidence. So curve after slippery curve and wipe after wipe of a foggy wet visor we kept roaring along. Then like walking through a doorway and into another room we were out of the forest and in this small coastal town. No more trees, just the lights and small buildings. Further up the road was the beautiful neon sign of the motel we were looking for, The Curly Redwood Lodge. A sight for sore eyes. I think I may have let out a scream and laugh of relief.
Our bikes pulled into the quiet parking lot. It was late into the night since the motel seemed full and the roads were quiet. I guess that was the time warp of the experience. The kickstands went down and my shaky hands removed my helmet. I looked at Chris and said “let’s not do that again.” We checked into the last room available in this mom and pop motel. Excellent place if you’re in Crescent City by the way. A hot shower and a warm dry bed almost made me weep. I don’t remember the conversation had across the room, but a tone of relief was in the air and we were both happy to have made it through. Life can throw you for a ride, and I will say this, I won’t ever underestimate 20 miles ever again.