last week

here's what happened last week:

after a hot, grueling ride to vegas to meet up with some friends from austin, henry and i had night out on the town with the texas boys. henry got to ride in the boat that was being pulled by the gorgeously decorated rented rv, the vehicle of choice for the 5 austinites on their western tour of the states. we visited the eerie fundamentalist mormon world of colorado city, where multiple women harmoniously rule the same houshold, and where teenage boys are forced out of town to forget the syructured way of life in the small town. we visited the north rim of the grand canyon, watching thunderstorms break across the south rim as the sun was setting. we spent three days exploring the myriad liquid fingers of lake powell, as the desert sun beat against our chests. for the first time since austin, i set out wakesurfing in the pleasent waters of the lake.

then i received a phonecall. "patrick. we will be doing our final day of training tomorrow down in redondo beach. will you be able to make it?"
"...yeah, of course i can make it. i'll be there at nine a.m."

thus another journey began. lake powell is approximately 600 miles from los angeles, and i had15 hours to get my vespa-riding self back to the coast. i shot down towards flagstaff on a half-gallon tank, thinking i could refuel at the next small town. i did not know that the next 5 small towns were gas station-free, and the next pump was 80 miles away. my gas mileage isn't that good. at the small town of gap, i asked around at a general store for the whereabouts of any gasoline. there was none. i took a chance in asking a lady in a pick-up outside the store if she had any fuel. she merely asked how much i needed, took her freshly filled gas container from the back of the truck, and gave me a gallon of gas. thankfully, i gave her some money and moved on again.

in flagstaff, i drove the streets of old town looking for a suitable dining joint. after choosing a particular diner, i parked my vespa and headed round the corner. i suddenly decided i should park henry closer to the restaurant. as i turned back around the corner, i watched as a big, unmmarked, white van backed into henry--throwing the vespa onto another car--then squeeled its tires and sped off. adrenaline pumping, i ran after the van trying to catch a license number. i did not run fast enough.

two and a half hours later, after a police report, dinner, and waiting around for henry to start because the fuel filter was clogged, i inspected the new scrapes and dent in henry's side and set off once again. this time, straight to la.

a year ago to this day, i had my first all-night vespa ride as i headed toward new jersey through the heart of indiana, ohio, and pennsylvania, so i could catch the rehearsal for the wedding of one of my best friends, jared. again, i experienced the cold, back-aching discomfort through the night, and at times had to fight back the strong urge to close my eyes for only a moment. twice, i stopped off the side of the interstate for a quick nod. through the mountains, through the desert, i made my way mile by mile to the sprawling land of los angeles. navigating my way through endless highways and interstates, i rolled into the redondo beach marina parking lot an hour and a half late, but still eager to get my training on. the other soldiers were taking a break from rowing, so i grabbed a coffee with the bunch, then headed out to the harbor for a grueling day of rowing.

i was tired and i was worn out. i endured the night, and i endured the day of hot sun and rowing. it was worth it. sag voucher number two.