Bike Lust: Harleys, Women, And American Society

15. The “Wetwood” Run: Frigid and Freezing

15 The “Wetwood” Run Frigid and Freezing “You’re not going to believe this!” Two years later, Ken and I are off to our next Redwood Run. We are more experienced riders. We are more savvy in the ways of the road. We make plans to ride with friends we trust. A whole horde of them expect to share the road with us, and two special friends, Jonathan and Kitty, become our mainstays. Ken and Jonathan ride. Kitty and I are packed. The men say they don’t mind packing us but I have my doubts. “If you were riding your own bike,” says Ken, “I would have more room in my saddlebags. If you were riding I could use your seat to store more of the gear.” I consider briefly the thought of riding my own scoot the full 200 miles. I think about the possibility of rain, heat, exhaustion, and saddle sores. As a beginning rider, both my feet and hands are occupied at all times. Once settled into the ride, I remain in that very position until I stop. All that time in the saddle without room to extend, flex, or move. “It’s all yours, dear,” I respond to Ken, “I love to be packed. That way I can still nibble on your ear.” In back of Jonathan’s bike is a small trailer, infamously and beautifully named the Jade Box. The weight of the trailer makes us all go slow. All right with me. This year I have snagged a room in Garberville. Once a year, the Garberville Motel permits reservation calls. These start at 8:00 a.m. on New Year’s day. Whatever rooms are unfilled by last year’s bikers go out for rent. By 8:02, all the rooms are rented. I started calling at 7:45 and kept calling until 8:01 when Nina, the manager , answered the phone and assigned us the one room still available. It is a miracle. We have a room. Kitty and Jonathan have their camping 226 The “Wetwood” Run: Frigid and Freezing Kitty and Jonathan Gould (Courtesy of Kitty and Jonathan Gould) equipment. They plan to stay in the pit. We all have supplies. Redwood Run, here we come! We meet at Dudley Perkins’s shop at 10:00 a.m. on the windiest, wettest day imaginable. The sky, gray and thick with storm clouds, crackles with energy. When the rain comes, it will come hard. The horde of expected friends never shows. Everyone but Kitty and Jonathan cancels at the last minute. The folks at DP’s take bets on how far we will get. No one expects us to last till Santa Rosa, fifty miles north. It’s only drizzling now, but we know it’s going to get worse. “What do you think you’re wearing?” asks a friendly voice. I turn, point, and show off my new leathers. He shakes his head and points to the rain gear. “I’m really comfortable in my new chaps,” I explain. “Doesn’t matter,” he softly adds, “you’re gonna need more than leather when the rain hits.” The service people at DP’s insist that I buy a real rainsuit, and for 227 Jamming the Wind once I listen. They stuff me into a bright, yellow, one-piece plastic sack. I cannot move my body in any direction but forward. The suit does not bend. It does not turn. It reminds me of a straitjacket. It will, I hope, keep me dry. Brimming with self-determination, the four of us take off. Two more riders join us for a short distance but are forced back by the rain. We too do not want to ride in a steady downpour. But somehow, disregarding all sanity, we persevere. We keep hoping the forecasts are correct. They predict only scattered showers. “Ken, ride slower! I can’t see in all this rain.” “Hey, Barbara,” yells Kitty, turning to shout across two lanes of traffic , “are you still up for this? Do you think we should go on?” I nod and give her a thumbs-up. For the first fifty miles we keep telling ourselves—and believing—that we can always turn back. But after leaving Santa Rosa, we know we are committed and pride keeps us going. These decisions aren’t rational. We are too numb to think. Vanity, stubbornness, and the genuine...