Los Angeles. We have arrived. The action plan is to get a
hold of a sim card and get ourselves 3 miles down the road to collect our
Harley. Things are going along smoothly…so far.
So the Sony won’t accept any frikken sim cards. We just
spend 50 dollars on a sim card and the phone refuses to recognise it. Reset
factory defaults, format all data and still nothing. As a South African I now
know that we have a sim card worth hundreds of Rands that we won’t be able to
sell to anyone. Here is our first lesson: The Americans are fair to their
customers. The telecoms sales lady saw the sim card was not working, took it
back and refunded us our 50 bucks. Done. No haggle, no hustle. Odd feeling to
come out a winner from that situation.
Hop into a taxi and ask the Russian driver, with terrible
English, to take us to 1860 S LaCienega Avenue. He checks us out blankly as
says “Hin diss City?” ah kak man. How is it we have the one guy that can’t
speak English? We have freaking no idea, no google maps and he is saying that
number 1860 is miles and miles away in a different part of the city. Then he
has a little moist moment to himself, starts the car and heads off in any old
direction. Being a South African I am not easily taken for a hustle: “Listen my
man, if you do not know where you are going then stop the cab and we will get
out”. After a rather uncomfortable exchange of words for a few minutes I decided
to just give this guy a chance. Turns out the number is 1 1 860, there is
an extra one there, and the guy – with my attitude and all- drops us off
perfectly on spot. So we have had two instances where I figured I am about to
get tourist-screwed and I was completely wrong.
Pull into Eagle Riders and check ourselves in to pick up the
bike. Harley Ultra Glide. Pretty much top of the range stuff. The guys are
smooth and sort out the admin in a flash. Feeling a surge of manliness I turn
down the model introduction on how the bike works, what the various buttons do
and I send the guy packing. I got this. Okay. 5 minutes later, after shoving keys
in slots they don’t belong, I sheepishly called the guy back and did the intro
course.
We are off. "Fokkit this thing is heavy" i think to myself. My first 100 meters
included a tight parking lot, hairpin bend, a water run off type pavement and
oncoming traffic. My poephol was nipping properly. Fortunately I managed not to
kill my Wife in front of the shop owner and we headed off down the road to a
bike store nearby to purchase our jackets and some kit. It is cheaper to buy
the jackets than to rent. It’s actually cheaper to buy the helmets as well –
but I never knew that and had already paid for the lids. I never quite
understood ¾ helmets. Like what are saying? Yes – my brain is important but hey
I don’t really need my jaw. That can get ripped off by tarmac no problems. I
like funnels.
4 miles down the road and she is going along well. Ping! Red
warning light – engine oil. Few hundred yards later, Ping! A second warning
light – transmission. Holy mother eff. I cannot believe this is happening. The
bike has done less than 5 miles and the dashboard is already celebrating
Christmas. We are hitting Death Valley tomorrow. Death Valley, in the middle of
summer. So, U-turn and head back to the shop.
Again: The Saffa in me is starting to get geared up for a
fight. Guaranteed these guys are going to make up some bull story and I am
going to end up paying for repairs and doing the journey on a Vespa. I walked
back in, dropped the keys on the counter and said: “She is stuffed. Oil light,
transmission light and she is still cold to the touch”. “Sit down and have some
coffee Sir, we will sort this out for you”. Now I also have to be careful here
because it explicitly states on the website that Death Valley in summer is a
problem for the bikes. I want to rush the guy along because we got things to do
but I also don’t want to take a wonky Harley through 120 Fahrenheit.
It took about an hour but eventually the gent hopped on,
went around the block and walked back into the store. “I was not able to
replicate the conditions you mentioned Sir”… ah kak. Here comes the catch. I
knew it. I knew I should have not rented a bike. I should have just bought a
second hand bike and took the risk myself.
“I was not able to replicate the condition you mentioned
Sir, but we will not send you out on a bike that you are not 100% comfortable
with. Let me see what else we have for you”.
2015 Rushmore updates, Full touring pack, 105cu Vtwin engine
(that’s 1800cc folks) Harley Road Glide. GPS, clever brakes, double head lights
and – flippen speedocruise. Done. No ifs, no buts. No increase to this fee or
alteration to that clause on the contract. Me, the Client, was not happy for a
legitimate reason and they sorted me out. Just awesome.
Top Tip No:1 - The Americans are happy to be of service. Keep it light-hearted fair with them and they reciprocate with generosity.
With the suspension updates the Road Glide felt simpler to
handle. The engine packed a whack load more punch as well.
Saying that, it was still heavy. We got a bit lost looking for
our hotel in Long Beach as she was a heavy girl to balance on the slow bits
around those tight and steep roads. Just as I spotted our hotel for the third
time, I took a road down to the left which I figured would take us into the
back entrance. It didn’t – it was a dead end. I stuck my right foot out and
slowly starting doing a U-turn. With jugular bulging I hung on as slowly, but
surely, the bike rolled over onto its side. Barbara, using her skills from
mountain biking, bailed off with spring like reactions as the bike toppled over
onto its side. Kak. Now what.
We both stood there for a moment just staring at the bike.
500kg lump just lying there. More importantly it was a 25 000 dollar lump
lying there. Now I did not expect this to work, but somehow she is quite easy
to flip back onto her tyres. No idea why, but a simple lift by Barbara and I
and up she went. The chrome crash bars did a great job of protecting the ram
air intake and the expensive bits. So much so that the chrome itself didn’t
even mark.
Eventually we got to the Hyatt Centric Pike Long Beach. Parked the bike outside the hotel entrance
where the bell boy told us to park and we headed out to the promenade for a
walk. Pro tip: Western USA is super glarey. It is so bright. Reminds me of
Dubai. So sunglasses are an absolute necessity.
The promenade is great. Lovely walk from one side to the
other with families having picnics, kids riding bicycles and a random couple
getting married. There are a number of bars along the board walk of which we
sampled a few. Scrolling down through the menu I notice the food prices are, in
exchange rate terms, pricey but understandable. Then I spotted the beers.
The month I spent in the USA was the most sober month of my
life. 100 rand for a beer. A large draft beer I hear you say? No no, a normal
ass mass produced Budweiser.
Anyways – it’s around 21:00 and it’s time to get back to the
hotel. Lovely little fine tucked into the bikes fender from the police because
I parked on a white curb. They colour code their curbs there which is actually
brilliant – but I never knew. Again, for a 5th time in that day the
customer service agent gladly took the 50 dollars from my hotel stay as an
apology as they told me to park there. Not bad for our first run in with the
Fuzz.
Right, the plan is to have a quick shower, its now 21:00 and
head out for some drinks. The jet lag hit us around 21:01 and we decided that
we should get some rest and have an early start. Barbara was off to bed and I
was off to explore just a little bit more. The plan was to wake up and 4am or
so and head out. I am going up to the 7 Eleven about 2 miles away to get water
and a few bites to eat for the road trip.
“'Do not fear what you are about to suffer! Behold, the devil
will cast you into prison” I am picking up my walking pace properly now. This
Dude, this mad ass dude is shouting out bible verses about Satan to me. On the
side walk. I mean seriously. Bible in hand, voice raised so loud that the
heavens has him on mute. This guy I walking up and down the main road there,
going from bar to bar, blaring out the scriptures. He caught me watching him
and he made an exorcism style approach towards me. I thought this was all made
up? I didn’t know that these mad hatter religious guys actually do walk, up and
down, and speak the word of the Lord. I couldn’t believe it. I was scared and
confused and excited all at once.
I have nothing against the act, in fact I applaud it. It’s
just, coming from South Africa, when some dude is shouting at you in the street
you got to get a move on brother. I will never forget that verse he shouted at me:
“Do not fear what you are about to suffer! Behold the Devil will cast you into prison”.
Holy kak. Surely he could have chosen something a bit gentler.
I ducked into the 7 Eleven in the nick of time. The unmasked
religious vigilante ricocheted off the impenetrable force field of the 24H
convenience store.
Loads of
rubbish food – and coffee. They set these urns up on the entrance table sort of
thing. Must be ten of them all with different types of coffee in them. Just
walk up and press the little pump jobbie and fill up your cup. If it wasn’t so
late and I didn’t need some good rest I would have destroyed that coffee
collection.
Anyway, got a few supplies. I headed back to the hotel, on
the other side of the road this time, and hit the hay. 6 hours sleep and we are
off to the longest meanest part of our journey. 500 miles through Bakersfield,
Death Valley and onto Las Vegas.
Check out the reviews: Ooooe oooe!
Tequila Jacks Long Beach TripAdvisor
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