Day 3 (July 12) Big Sur to Oakhurst
I think life is precious. I do not want to leave this planet. Do I fear death? Not any more than anyone else, maybe even less so. What I fear is opportunity lost. There is so much more I want to do with my short time remaining here. Let's face it: life is short. I do not believe in an afterlife. When I die, I will cease to exist. All my experiences will be swallowed by Oblivion. That's why I think the purpose of life is to enjoy every minute of it. I enjoy life. Yes I experience stress (at times crippling stress). Yet I derive satisfaction from continually challenging myself. That's why I immerse myself in learning new skills. Whether it's playing poker, snowboarding, exercising, riding a motorcycle, doing a PhD, or going to medical school I feel a sense of reward from improving myself. I foresee so many more opportunities to not only improve myself, but in so doing make a positive contribution in this world. Like Willy Loman, I do not want to leave before I've left my thumb print. Death is so final. When life is gone it is gone forever. That's why I am so shaken by near misses. Brushes with death leave me almost paralyzed. I feel light-headed and can't concentrate on anything. I get butterflies in my stomach and feel shell-shocked.
I had a near miss as we entered sweltering Los Banos in the late afternoon of day 3. I am still here because Tom saved my life. He gets uncomfortable talking about it, but it is what it is. He does not want me to feel like I owe him anything, or feel indebted to him. I don't feel indebted. Can you put a price on life? I am simply happy to be alive and grateful that he was quick witted enough to anticipate, and prevent, a certain disaster.
We were on the lookout for Harley Davidson stores so Tom could buy gifts for his sisters and girlfriend. We were stopped a good distance from a red light in a long line of traffic after slowing from highway speed. We noticed a Harley store off to the right. Tom was a bit ahead and to the left of me. We had to change to the right lane, which was empty. I checked my mirror and looked over my shoulder. The lane looked clear. I looked ahead again to see where we had to go. I started to move into the lane when Tom shot out his arm in front of me. It was a clear signal to stop. I didn't see why I should stop, but I slammed on my brakes anyway. At that moment a minivan sped past in the right lane in the very space I had been about to enter. I was shocked. I had been sure there were no oncoming vehicles. I had a horrible image of my bike, with me on it, getting ground into the pavement as it was crushed by the front end of the van. I could hear screaming brakes and twisting metal.
I was in a daze when we got to the parking lot. I just wanted to get off the bike. My intention was to back her into an empty stall. I turned my wheel and all of a sudden the bike went over. In an instant I had dropped 750 pounds of machine. In a panic, I tried to get her back up, stalling her. Sitting on the bike, my leg wasn't strong enough to right her. Tom parked his bike and came over to help me push Shelley II off the ground. My head was spinning. A guy from the Harley store came out to ask if everything was ok and I couldn't even speak.
It would take a few hours before I returned to normality. We were trying to get to (or near) Yosemite National Park that night. By the time we were leisurely cruising through scenic countryside on the 140 east of Merced I was thoroughly enjoying myself again. When we hit a nice long, slightly downhill straightaway, I confidently followed Tom up to 100 miles per hour, the fastest we had managed thus far. It is a bit of a rush to feel the wind at that speed. I had even more fun after I made a breakthrough on cornering. By moving wide before entering turns, I was able to see further around corners. I could also cut off some of the turn, reducing the overall sharpness of the corner.
That night in our hotel room in Oakhurst we played heads-up Texas Hold'em tournaments and drank Coronas until the early morning. I think I lost just about every game. I didn't care. I might have had no luck at cards but my luck had been with me when it counted. How lucky was it that Tom had read that I intended to move in front of a van? What if he hadn't been paying attention or had been looking somewhere else? What if it had taken him longer to react? It was good to know that Tom was watching my back. Thanks mate.
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