A Ticket to Ride

I just finished showing off some pretty weak wheelies to a hottie on the road. These were 7 o’clock wheelies, I became very self-conscious. I realized that I am not going to get laid this way. It’s obvious that chicks like them to be bigger and to last longer.

I continued down San Marcos Blvd. in Carlsbad, California, slowing down every now and then and getting the front up, getting it to 9 o’clock and holding it up for maybe 3 to 5 seconds until I got close to red-line. This is not good. How am I ever going to moon people while doing a wheelie if I have to use torque to keep it up? Time to reach a balance point. I will not stop practicing wheelies today until I can stay up for 30+ seconds, even if it kills me. Famous last words.

I find a mostly empty area to practice these suckers, and I’m pulling 12 o’clock wheelies and bringing them down soft as a baby, people behind me are eating it up. An old couple in their BMW X5 gives me thumbs up. I am Maximus. The crowd loves me. Of course, I need to out-do myself. I bring it up, 12 o’clock, am riding it for 1 second…2 seconds…bike wobbles left and right, my heart skips a beat, I drop the bike down almost straight and straighten it out, no problem. I decide I’m not very good at doing 12 o’clock wheelies and the smartest thing to do would be to stop for the day. I continue practicing.

I move into a more empty area where I can ride without being judged and have to out-do myself on my excellent wheelies. It’s not easy being so awesome at everything. I find a nice stretch and stop at the beginning. Remembering the terrible, live Cake performance I saw the previous day at the Del Mar Racetracks…I reluctantly crouch at the starting line, engine pumping and thumping in time. The green light flashes, the flags go up, I twist on the throttle and drop the clutch.

I’m doing it…I’m at 8000 rpm, in the air, looking straight up at the sky. Two seconds, 8000 rpm, four seconds, 8000 rpm, 8 seconds, 9000 rpm, 50mph, I’m keeping it up…I look down and see I’m not using almost any throttle…I’ve reached a balance point, I’m flying to the sea, letting my spirits carry me…I rule the world.

After coming back to reality, it registers that I’m up too high and for too long for this to remain a good thing. I remember the dollar fifty I lost in Vegas the weekend before and how I should’ve quit while I was up. I drop the throttle, which normally brings the bike down hard on its front. I’m still in the air…why am I not dropping? I feel like the Road Runner running off of a cliff, coming to a complete stop in midair, then realizing I won’t be able to stay still in midair all day. I think what to do..what to do. My mind wanders off to the movie I watched the previous day, The Butterfly Effect, and remember Evan at age 7 speaking…”This is the very moment of your reckoning. In the next 30 seconds you’re going to open one of two doors. The first door will forever traumatize your own flesh and blood.” The bike tips to the left, I tip to the left, I am in the air, I am not so high in the air anymore, I am not so high anymore, the dopamine drains out of my hypothalamus, my helmet and head make brief contact with the cement, the rest of my body is jealous and kicks up my head, the envious side of me falls on the ground and I begin rolling on my side like a bowling ball, watching the bike slide next to me. I think to myself “man, I hope the bike doesn’t hit me.” It doesn’t. I am happy with this outcome. I’ve rolled 100 feet across the cement right next to a gutter. This will definitely not get me laid. I start going through a run down of people in my head that might be able to help me in this situation. No medical insurance, no bike insurance, no bike registration, oh my!

A van pulls up 10 seconds later next to me and a man and woman come out yelling “We don’t have a cell phone! We don’t have a cell phone!” You dolts, I just dumped my bike to go out with cement and you want to borrow a cell phone? Oh wait, they wanted to help me. I decide that I am fine, and they offer water, which I accept and knew would hit the spot while lying down with an unsure amount of injuries in the hot, San Diego sun. I tell them I am fine and I had just tripped and fell, but thanked them for their assistance. For people without cell phones, they were not as dumb as I had imagined and did not believe my fib. They brought my bike to the side of the road, put it up on its kickstand and decided that I was fine and left the scene.

Man, that was a sweet wheelie. I rule.