A picture is worth…

A thousand words. Or so they say.

Boy, do I feel like a dummy…a great ride yesterday and no pictures for the blog. So why do I feel like a dummy? Read on, my friends.

I just returned from Southeast Asia (now there’s a phrase that conjures up a strong sense of déjà vu). The time change coming from Asia to the US is always tough for me. Going there, I’m tuned into the local time in a day. Coming home, it takes me a good week or two to stop waking up at 3:00 a.m., wide awake, and unable to fall asleep again. So I’ve been getting up that early and doing things all week long. Like writing this blog.

It really caught up with me Wednesday. I’ve been traveling almost nonstop for the last three months. A trip to Thailand, back home, a long trip to China, back home, a quick trip into Mexico to see the whales, back home, another trip to Bangkok, and back home again last Friday night. One week ago, exactly. By Wednesday of this week I was fried. I almost didn’t think I’d make it through the day without falling asleep, but I did, and I got a good solid 8 hours Wednesday night. When I woke up yesterday, I was fresh, and that was a good thing because I had a lot of stuff to get done.

Some off-the-main-topic advice…if anyone ever asks you to be the executor of their estate, take a pass. No one ever told me that, so when my cousin asked me to be his executor, I said okay. Folks, it was a lot of work, it took a year and a half, but I knew it was all coming to an end yesterday. How much work? Cleaning out my cousin’s apartment, paying all of his outstanding bills, getting copies of death certificates, multiple visits to all of the banks he used, lots of lawyer meetings, papers back and forth to the courts…you get the idea. But yesterday was the day I had been waiting to see. I had to get up early, do one more transfer of a bunch of estate money into one big account (more trips to different banks), and then there was what I hope will be my next-to-last meeting with the lawyers to sign it all into their trust accounts. Now the legal beagles can start making payments to all of the charities to whom my cousin left his estate. It’s a good feeling to get it behind me.

So good, in fact, that I needed to go for a motorcycle ride. And for me, that means hopping on my California Scooter. The Baja Blaster. Bright red. Chrome. Cool. The most fun ride I’ve ever owned. I pushed the bike out of the garage, and I felt a little guilty as I did so. I hadn’t ridden in about a month. You know the feeling when you ignore your baby for too long…is she going to start?

No problem here, folks. I put the key in, no choke at all, and briefly touched the starter button. Instant gratification. The little CSC 150 engine jumped to life and settled into an easy purr. A quick collection of my riding gear (helmet, gloves, and jacket), and I’m in the wind. What a day! I know some of you readers are living with snow, rain, and cold weather. It was 80 degrees in California yesterday, and not a cloud in the sky. Life is good.

Hmmm. Where to? Well, we need a new tax guy. I think I’m a pretty savvy guy, but I don’t like doing my taxes. I’m not afraid of too many things, but one fear high on my list is giving too much money to the Big G. I’m a pretty conservative guy, and I just don’t like what the guys in Washington do with the money they take from us. So I always want to get a guy to do my taxes who’s not going to leave anything on the table. The problem with this philosophy, though, is there are a lot of flaky tax guys out there. I’ve been through three of them in the last three years. I used to have a great one, but he retired.

There’s a tax service I’ve seen for years down on Foothill Boulevard. I always thought the guys who work there must be pretty good and pretty cool. No, I didn’t get any referrals from other folks…my conclusion is based on more tangible evidence…the two 1956 bright red Ford pickups parked out front. Anybody with those wheels has to be good at what they do.

So as I pulled up on the Baja Blaster, my new best friend and tax guy Brian was just climbing into his classic ’56 Ford. “What have you got there?” he asked. Brian was really taken with my modern Mustang, I was really taken with his ’56, and we started talking. Turns out we’re both riders (he’s got a Triumph, a BMW, and a KLR), and even though ol’ Brian’s not taking on new clients, he agreed to take my business.

A good day, off to a good start, and it’s gonna get even better. It was almost noon by that time, and I was getting hungry. You know, on a nice day, a good aroma travels, and there’s an In-N-Out just up the road. Grilled onions and hamburgers…I can smell them from here, and I know where I’m headed for lunch.

I rolled up on my California Scooter. Everyone in the outdoor In-N-Out line turned and smiled at my bike. Yeah, I know…I’m a rock star. I parked, took my place in line, and the questions started. It’s a California Scooter. We make them right here in southern California. 98 miles per gallon. Yep, they’re fully street legal. Ah, I’m up to the window now. I love this part because I know about the secret menu, the good stuff that’s not posted on the In-N-Out board. “I’ll take mine Animal Style,” I said. A knowing smile from the pretty young girl behind the counter. 10 minutes later I’m enjoying the best burger on the planet. Grilled onions. Secret sauce. A diet Coke. Absolutely perfect fries. Wow, this is good! Lynda, thanks to you and your family for this little slice of Heaven on Earth!

My Baja Blaster started up again, and I thought I’d head home. Nope, it’s too nice a day. The bike found its way up to the little artist colony of Padua in the foothills. My little thumper is running just perfectly. It’s gotta be my imagination, but I swear that thing is getting faster every time I ride it. On up into the San Gabriels, cranking along at a good 50 mph climbing up to Mt. Baldy Village. The scenery is magnificent, and that’s when I realize I should have brought my Nikon. I know I’ve posted a lot of photos of this road on the blog already, but the views were so vivid and the skies so blue that I felt like I was cheating you guys without taking photos. I sure wished I had my camera. Ah, well. The ride was too beautiful to worry about it too much.

I rolled past the Mt. Baldy Lodge. As is usually the case, there were a handful of V-twin Buffet Racers parked out front. Lots of chrome. Lots of fringe. Open pipes. Ride to eat, eat to ride, or something like that.

I didn’t want to stop at the Mt. Baldy Lodge (it’s my usual turn-around point), so I didn’t. I rode all the way up to the ski lift, another several miles of 15% grades and switchbacks. Pungent pine smells in the crisp mountain air. The temperature dropped another 15 degrees (maybe it got down to a cool 65). The sky became a darker blue. Stunning, stupendous, magnificent, picture postcard scenes. And me with no camera. Sorry, guys.

Last night, as I was falling asleep watching whatever the TV folks are trying to pass off as entertainment these days, I thought about all of the great views I had on my ride earlier in the day. Then my cell phone rang. I remembered checking it on my earlier motorcycle ride several times. I always get nervous that the cell phone case is going to fall off my belt when I’m riding. The cell phone case that holds my new iPhone. You know, the one with the built-in camera that takes absolutely beautiful pictures. Yeah, I know, I forgot I had it while I was riding, even as I was checking to make sure it was still there. Now you know why I feel like a dummy today. Or maybe not. I could just take that ride again….

And about that business of picture being worth a thousand words…I don’t know. You tell me. No pictures, and this blog entry is exactly 1,513 words.

Next time…more pictures, fewer words. I promise.