No MGM Pool Party, No parties at all, no craziness. Just Fixing the motorcycle. Shit. The fan stopped working and I took it to the local shop that was open. It was cool enough, dirty enough and messy enough for me to believe that these guys were good ole guys. I couldn't be more wrong. They quoted me "significantly less than $200" and they installed a switch (per my request) and changed the oil. I rolled in the shop at 0900 and didn't leave until 1630. The switch took this guy all day as I tried to help him and keep him going, but he seemed like maybe he was new. When he asked about the oil I said "the bike requires 10W-40 motorcycle oil. So I need that and the switch plz." . I tried to tbe as polite as I could, the work needed to be done. Long story short, I helped the whole time, greasy and bloody fingers (wiring cuts me everytime) and chatted the guy up hoping to keep the price down. Well, when it was all said and done, he loaded my bike up with 20W-50 Diesel oil, and completed the wiring to my liking. He charged $175 for everything which I though was way high. Should have been 30 min wiring job, plus $50 for oil. I got ripped off. But it was done. The oil did nothing but screw me as I find out later, once I spring an oil leak and my clutch starts to burn up........
There is no way to describe the feeling of "DAMNIT!" better than a nail through the foot. So when I got my bike repaired, the turd that fixed the bike put 20W-50 in the case. Why? Even after I told him the bike takes 10W-40 4T (motorcycle oil) because unlike most american V-Twins, this bike uses the same oil for the clutch, gears and upper motor, where the common Harley has actual Clutch Oil. We'll get to the fiasco that ensued later.
I found myself sitting in the hotel bar with a Miller Lite and a $1 bill creeping into the 25c blackjack/video poker. I was also watching the Blackhawks take on the Kings to go to the cup. There were LA fans everywhere, so I just kept my mouth shut and watched whilst playin a little poker. I ended up at one point up $11.75 but that was about to go right back to the house. I threw down a few more beers, unexpectedly folding to the vice that's caused more pain than pleasure in its time. About to start my 4th, the game was tied, the LA fans looked rowdy and I was feeling a little fire for my Hawks. I kept my wits about me, cashed in $5.25 and headed to my room. I couldn't really stay in the bar without getting drunk (not advisable) or putting more money into the slot. The money was to have a good time....but Vegas was last minute and not a place I wanted to really gamble so much as just see!
A few minutes after, I decided on a desert ride and went past the bar. I creep-ed in to check the score and immediately 2 "women" rushed up to me. One was pock marked in her cheeks and had some tell tale signs of teenage acne and weathered face thanks to years upon years of smoking. The other was better looking, but just flabby and intimidating, I suppose how you'd imagine a female hitman that kills with bare hands. Once they reached me they just started grabbing my arms. First thought THREAT. Second thought PROTECT. So as I tried to rip my right arm out of the vice-like grasp of this giant woman person thing, I felt something glance off of my butt. I'm not stupid and twisted, laughing with the women waiting to either black out, or be robbed. But as I finally wrenched out of their grasp I spun right into this 5'6'' greaseball. He was short, meth-skinny, bad teeth, and resembled a goblin from the movie "Lord of the Rings" complete with a balding head and thin wispy hair. He smiled a crooked toothed smile and as I backed away, I simultaneously put my hand over my wallet. Check. Whew. The girls wanted to dance, they insisted I was the "hottest guy, omg, so hot", and the guy was clearly trying to get me to go with them. I've heard stories and seen movies, but I was not prepared for the CIA to offer me a job like this! I mean, I'm honored and all, but I got shit to do, lets be honest here! haha, all kidding aside, I LOL'd and was able to break contact and get outside. Once there I went to my bike and (sweating my ass off already) sat on her realizing that I didn't actually want to ride, I just wanted to rest, but not in a hotel room full of 1970's nostalgia. As I sat there I thought of many things. The existence of God, past GF's that couldn't hang with this guy, my awesome GF that supports every single adventure I go on with her or in this case without, my parents, and my funeral.
Kind of a depressing thought at 28 to think, "how will they talk about me if my body gives up?". But there it was, just floating above me in the parking garage. As I laid back on my bike, with my feet over the backrest, and my fingers interlaced folded across my chest, I thought about times I'd messed up. Regrets came first, I wish I would've been a better role model for my kid sister, should've shown her college is a cool thing and get out and see the world. I should've helped more when I was able to at home, but didn't. I should've said FUCK YOU to the JAG officer, once upon a time. I should've punched the peddler in SF trying to sell weed. I should've worked on legs harder. Simple regrets, some would affect my life for 10+ years, others not a big deal, and some I could turn from regret into encouragement for another. If you can show one person that it is indeed possible to overcome something, perhaps their quality of life becomes just a little bit better. Maybe they share just one more smile. And then you've done better. It's not enough to change yourself when you can, but for that change to somehow impact others in a positive way. And I guarantee you, the smallest thing you do to improve something about yourself will impact someone else in a positive light. Try it. You'll see. But after about an hour I realized something about myself, and I didn't like it at all. Doubt. I was beginning to doubt my ability to fight. I realized that if I was going to sit here and get all emo and dramatic about my life, I was dead-freaking-wrong. I started laughing. More of like 3 or 4 chuckles in a row. And I realized that I was so stupid, thinking that I'm going to lose. It's only cancer, and it's only round 2. haha, I got off my bike and wandered outside and mumbled "it's gonna take more than that. Lots more than that.". Nobody heard me, and I thought maybe some power that be, maybe they heard me. It was more of a challenge to the universe "BRING IT ON!" kind of mumble. So I walked back in under a starry light polluted sky, into the hotel, past the screaming LA fans, past the hookers, past the meth heads and blackjack dealers, past the nice shoe shine guys, and right up into my room. I got a text from my gf. The Hawks. Oh no. Well, it was a helluva run, everyone hates LA teams, and I feel like maybe I need to get out of the city of Sin asap. My gut doesn't feel right in this town, time to move. After a nights rest however ;) . So here we GO! Good night, and good luck. Stay thirsty for life my friends!
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