The Road to Hell is Paved With Good Intentions

Interstate 10, eastbound into Arizona

It's been said that the road to Hell is paved with good intentions. But while most of us mean to do good, in the end it's always what we failed to do that we're defined. It's always that one big opportunity we didn't make good on, that haunts us.

Good ideas always start out, of course, as good ideas. But science teaches us that "for every action there is an equal and opposite reaction". You can't put a good idea into place without pissing on someone else's Cheerios. And when naysayers make good on their equal and opposite reaction, you're on that road to Hell.

But it's all in how you handle the negativity that determines whether you're barbecued in Hades, or toasted on the morning show circuit; every dark cloud has a silver lining they say.

Meanwhile Interstate 10 through the State of Arizona offers its own little road to Hell. As I got into Phoenix this afternoon, the air temperature gauge on my Honda ST1300 read 108 degrees F (42.2 C). The thing is that it gets so hot in AZ, and getting to the Valley of the Sun requires hundreds of miles of empty desert, you don't want to take side roads. You just want to get there as fast as you can.

108 degrees. The "F" means "Fuck this shit"

Sash, on the other hand, is still in Southern California, continuing her commitment to doctors appointments. After spending so much time together on the road the past few years, living in hotel rooms, cabins, and vacation rentals, we need some time apart. Moreover, "I" need some time apart. I need that feeling of running away, being on my own, left to my own devices.

And we've talked a lot about spending more time apart as a way to maintain a healthy relationship. We've talked about it for a few years now. But it's always manifested as a few hours here or a day or two there; we've never spent weeks apart before, until now.

Looking back across my adult life, there were things I wanted to do that I never made good on. The reasons why are many. For one, I married young. And two, I spent my twenties chasing the approval of a mother and father who just weren't going to give it to me. But also, it was because I've been one to just let sleeping dogs lie. I didn't want to rock the boat, or disrupt the status quo with what I felt were good ideas. I didn't want to find myself on the road to Hell.

Sash, on the other hand, doesn't seem to be bothered with going to Hell because she's always managed to come back from it. I guess it's a good thing that I have her as a guide in my life. But then again, it might make me dangerous.

Dinner and brew, Uncle Bear's Brewery, Chandler, AZ

Meanwhile, my stay in the Phoenix area lasts only one night. By morning, I'm looking to avoid the road to Hell once more with some cooler AM temperatures as I make my way further east into New Mexico.

I've a balding front tire that needs replaced, and I'm certain no one's got something that'll match the Michelin PR4 on my rear wheel. So, I'm looking for a shop that can get one in a few days time and mount it on the spot.

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Heading Back Out On the Highway

This morning I headed back out on the highway with Las Cruces, NM as my first destination. This time going solo. I'm planning a short stint of 19 days before returning to SoCal. When I get back, Sash and I are taking another little trip to the 75th Anniversary Sturgis Motorcycle Rally.

Since cutting our original road trip short last month, and returning to Southern California, Sash and I have stayed at her house in Menifee for 16 days now. She actually still owns a house, but has been renting it out to a family the past few years. They moved out of the house just as she and I returned back. So, the house is mostly empty aside from a futon, television, and patio furniture.

But now the house is up for sale.

A few weeks after the Sturgis Rally, Sash has another doctor's appointment in San Diego. So, she'll be returning. I have a client in Boulder, CO that I'll be visiting with. After that, I'm not sure what I'll be doing.

Probably just riding around.

I can remember at the age of 12 when our family moved from San Diego to Santa Ana. The change in culture was severe. Even though the neighborhood we lived in San Diego was predominantly hispanic, it was still very friendly. I had lots of friends there. In Santa Ana, however, where the population is also hispanic, people remain guarded. As the only Asian/White family on the block, we were like alien invaders to them. I never felt so alone there.

But at that time, I was also going through some of my own problems with being a stepchild. Both my mother and father remarried to new spouses, and both had new sons to love and raise. It made me feel abandoned. Moreover, my mom kept complaining about me spending too much time inside the house during weekends and summer vacations. She wanted me to get out of the house.

"Go outside and make some new friends!" she demanded while making a serious face.

How was I supposed to make friends with people who made suspicious expressions at me?

It didn't take long, however, until I discovered the Santa Ana River Trail. It was a stretch of narrow pavement for bicyclists and joggers that ran along the banks of the Santa Ana River. It starts in the San Bernardino Mountains and flows some 96 miles to the Pacific Ocean at Huntington Beach.

I'd ride my bicycle a couple of miles to the river trail, and from there could ride southwest to the beach, which was about 8 miles, or ride northeast to Prado Dam, which was about 22 miles. The first couple of times I rode towards the beach, and by the time I got there, I found it very crowded with joggers, skateboarders, and bicyclists. I felt quite overwhelmed. So, I started going the other way towards Prado Dam.

The entire day of riding to Prado Dam and back was close to 45 miles. This for a teenager was actually not that exhausting. It did, however, keep me in good physical condition, which I think I still benefit from today.

But for the most part, spending so much time riding far away, and being all alone, made me feel so much more comfortable. I didn't have my mom nagging me. I didn't have to be the stepchild anymore. I'd imagine myself as running away, and resigning myself to my own faculties. Yet, I'd return home by evening.

What I know now is that I get quite anxious staying in one place for too long. Sixteen days here in Menifee has been a long enough time for me. Getting on that motorcycle and being gone for several weeks, even months, is like being able to breathe again.

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When the Going Gets Tough, the Tough go Riding

Sash chats with her friend Janet at Cantina Mayahuel, San Diego, CA

Nearly a week ago, Sash and I had begun staying at her house in Menifee, CA, a bedroom community located in the Inland Empire, about an hour north of San Diego.

The family that had been renting the house from her moved out a week prior to us getting here. The house, which has five bedrooms and three-and-a-half bathrooms, covering 3,000 square feet, is largely empty, aside from the patio furniture, futon, and television that we brought in from storage. It was good timing that her renters moved out just in time for our return to SoCal.

As Sash reported last May, she's returned from our road trip to take care of health issues that just can't wait any longer.

Since returning over the past week, we've hooked up with some old friends that we used to hang out with frequently. It's always good to see them again, but interestingly I no longer get this feeling of missing them. I think that something inside me says that I'll be back to see them again, even it takes another year or two or three.

I think part of it is knowing that we're all connected via social media, and that we can always get small snippets of each other's day to day lives over the Internet. Another part is knowing that in most cities across the country, we have other friends and family to help us feel welcomed and appreciated. But I think the other part is that I don't feel connected to a home anymore.

That is, San Diego, along with Southern California for that matter, no longer feels like a place where I'm "back at home". It's as if being on the road for two-and-a-half years, moving from city to city every week or two, has numbed my sense of grounding. Meanwhile, the friends we reconnected with recently all have jobs they go to Monday through Friday. They have to mow lawns, fix leaky faucets, and pay electricity bills. Whereas, I haven't touched a lawn mower since I moved out from my ex-wife over four years ago.

I found it liberating that over the past few months, I've been reading about the water shortage in California, and I don't feel concerned. Should the drought continue to devastate the Golden State's economy, I guess I'll just hang out somewhere else. There's something really freeing in knowing that when the going gets tough, the tough go riding.

But it's not like I just don't care. I feel as if I've paid my dues. I put in a lot of state and federal taxes as an employee, and having been a business owner for the past 14 years, I pay even more state and federal taxes. I've thrown so much money at Sacramento and Washington DC lately, I've earned the right stick my middle finger at Jerry Brown and Barack Obama.

A part of me has always wondered, however, what our clients think when they hire a marketing team that is constantly changing cities. I mean, I know that Sash and I have lost some opportunities due to clients preferring to hire contractors rooted in their geographic locale. But many of the clients who've hired us travel frequently themselves, and I think they "get" the concept of mobile living and working.

Sash, on the other hand, has been working on a list of her top 10 favorite cities. But I don't know if I really have any favorite cities. I do know that there are some places I just didn't like. Yet, I still enjoyed myself there. It's knowing that I can leave at any time without the hassel of selling a house or moving furnitture that makes me feel a lot better about visiting a shit hole.

This house in Menifee we're staying in has not been ideal for Sash. She bought it with her then-husband several years ago and actually used to live in it. Since returning here last week, it reminds of her of many bad times, and seeing it so empty now makes her sad. Part of the reason why we're staying here is so that we can clean it up and fix it up for sale. We have only a couple more weeks to stay here, and then Sash heads down to San Diego to housesit, while I take a short road trip.

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