Dos Vesperados, Part 1: The Prequel with Party Ice. February 4-9, 2016.

It’s taken so long to collect this part of the story, the events described have happened over a year ago by now. I hemmed and hawed over whether this was a storyline I wanted to keep for myself, but ultimately I’d always intended to chronicle this segment of journey. It was only laziness and brain trauma that held me back. So, here was the plan, cooked up over Christmas in Montana at Fred sister’s. I will do my best to document the amazing, make-or-break experience that was riding 2,200 miles from Austin to Vegas for a rally, with a boyfriend on a 50 year old Vespa.

Don’t worry, it’s mostly photos.

But first, I had to actually leave Atlanta and get to Austin to meet Fred.

Goodbye, coming back to auntie Florence’s home cooking after jitsu.
Goodbye, Michael’s garage, which I lent a hand to organize.
Goodbye, PX, but not for long. If you’ve read ahead, you know what happens to this bike (spoilers: I buy it, total it, and rebuild it).
Goodbye, Alliance family. I wished them luck at the Atlanta Open (which I would miss just barely!), rolled my last roll for the foreseeable future, and had a cozy dinner with mat buddies at Wasabi House. I miss you guys.

All these goodbyes, I guess I’d grown attached to Atlanta in the few months I spent here.

To be honest, The Roar had begun to feel a bit worn out – I wasn’t sure I wanted to cross the continent again. I’d built up a pretty good system on the road by now, shouldn’t I be pushing boundaries by setting my sights on other continents or something? But with Fred planning and riding alongside me, a spark was ignited for something just different and boundary-pushing enough. Besides, I got to see a bit of his life in Cambridge, this would be his chance to dip toes in my world. In the meantime, I took advantage of being in one place to fix everything I could.

Repaired the fraying sleeve ends of my favorite (and only) merino hoody.
Viva la water resistance. I’m so ready.
Fixing my dry bags with clear Gorilla tape.
That clear Gorilla tape does it all. I’m ready to go!
Shit, maybe I’ll need more than Gorilla tape.

Of course, as pressure mounts and you close in on a big date, something’s gotta blow. A few days before departure as I was pulling out of a regular Saturday afternoon coffee with Wai’s drawing crew, my bike shot out from under me and landed on its side. I was rear ended by some kid, probably driving his parent’s car.

In my 52k of riding, it’s my first collision ever.

I was unharmed and suspect the combination of my Vespa, Pelican case, and crash bars did more damage to the MDX than it took (when police arrived they were like, “Where’s the other vehicle that was hit?”), but still cue emergency visit to John at Vespa Marietta.

John, human dent puller!
Dammit I just replaced this brake lever.
The new left plastic panel is unpainted black now.

It turns out there were violent thunderstorms the day I intended to set off anyway, so I lingered another day and got to taste Auntie Florence’s handmade turnip cakes – she was making them specially for Gwynne’s return. They’re a bit early for Chinese New Year but I snuck a few in…I love slow, flexible travel (and so does my stomach).

Auntie Florence’s handmade turnip cakes are advance level Chinese home cooking.

In the early morning chill (3 Celsius!), I hit the freeway for an hour straight away to skirt the city before picking up US-29 south. I banged out 365 miles to Pensacola, FL, with just two stops: one to put on my silk sock liners, the next for a coffee break.

Break to warm up at Coffee Cat in Auburn, GA. Cute college town.
Hello again, Florida!

I was still running a bit late and arrived past dark, but Jami (jamisea) met me at a Dairy Queen and guided me into their fantastic home in Pensacola. In messages over MV she had suggested an Irish pub for dinner. Being an adopted New Englander I was familiar with the concept, but I couldn’t have predicted McGuire’s. It’s a labyrinth of bristling dollar bills stapled to every surface, and it seemed to grow thicker as you walked deeper. The nachos also seemed to grow as you ate them too…

Jami immediately welcomes me with dinner with her daughter, Caitlin (not pictured). Randy joined us later.
Some estimates are that there are million dollars stapled to the ceiling alone. Fire insurance must be killer.
The next day back at base, Randy shows me the alternate accommodations.
The only reason I didn’t stay in the tent-fort is that it got too cold at night. Instead, I slept in the bed that someone famous slept in before me, and pulled a cat toy out of it.
Whee! And yes, that is a zip line from the house. You guys are doing it SO right!
Also this fantastic relic from a Dead Elvis ride.
Jami and Randy host an ‘Un-Rally’ each year at their home. I’ll have to make it sometime!
Their American flag roof is visible to passing aircraft.
Randy readies his Big Ruckus to join me for a sendoff ride.
Tasting some Florida sand, combing the shoreline and near the Alabama state line.
We were here!
Can’t beat this kind of view from the deck of Flora-Bama.
Randy says this place is hopping at night on weekends, but it was quiet at noon when we were there.
I’ll take my weekday brunches at this classic Southern establishment.
We make it as far as Lambert’s Cafe, in Foley, AL before parting ways. Thank you, Jami and Randy!
I hoofed it along I-10 to Metairie, LA to meet these two Boston scootering transplants: Jeremy and Caitlin.
Straight to business, they introduced me to the Manager’s Special at Cooter Brown’s. You know it’s going to be good with a name like Cooter Brown’s. Just look at this gravy parade.
Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge is like someone’s uncle’s basement rec room from the 70s. It clearly used to be two spaces, and gusts of cold wind came through the slats in the walls.

I’d expressed concern that I was a bit early for Mardi Gras, but it turns out it doesn’t matter! Caitlin assured me parades would be going on all weekend. Announced by trumpets, one marched just outside the dive bar we were patronizing, Snake and Jake’s Christmas Club Lounge. It was Caitlin and Jeremy’s first time checking out this spot as well (it has Christmas right in the name, what could go wrong?), and super fun sharing some new city exploration with them.

Parade goers with printed out geometric masks.
At home base, I shared a room with Caitlin’s jackalopes. Check out her work!
Crawfish breakfast at City Diner. They also make obscenely oversized pancakes, delivered in pizza boxes.

After our fantastic night out, the place to hit for breakfast was City Diner. When they asked Caitlin how she takes her coffee, she said, “In a mug. Viatmin C for Coffee.” After my own heart.

Caitlin avoids gluten but indulges my curiosity for King Cake. What an interesting manifestation of traveling cultures.
Baby Jesus isn’t hiding in cake at all. Everything I’ve been told is a lie!

We’d heard there were some traditions around tasks and obligations for the person who finds a baby in their piece of King cake, but our cake from the grocery store had an external baby. Unsure whether this was standard practice but with a heap of Fuck this cake anyway, we dissected the entire cake looking for a ‘true baby’ hidden in dough. It was never found it. I guess cake ritual has given way to choking hazards and chipped teeth, and we’ll have to have fun other ways. Good thing we picked up drinks and snacks, and have scoots!

Let’s gear up for a scooter ride to the parade route! I’m borrowing the PK.
Smallframe buddies. I went to back to the French Market to buy a replacement winged fella.
Party bead hazard, unique to NOLA.
Cars may get crowded near the route, but parking is no problem for scoots.
Pause at the park to plot our target on the parade route and admire our choice of transport.
A short walk to the Endymion parade, with a backpack of booze. Going day drinking like New Orleans pros.
Let the airborne trinkets fly!
We found a spot on someone else’s camp for a view, and most of my photos looks like this. Picture this with thumping music and cheering. Clouds threatened overhead, but couldn’t dampen the party mood.

I doubt most attendees were prepping for upcoming religious fasting, but I was happy to get swept into the atmosphere of overindulgence – it’s not like you need an excuse for a party in this town. Taking in the costumes on the street I felt underdressed and overdressed at the same time, and that’s just the locals. The carnival floats seemed to get more extravagant and outrageous as the sun set, as did the sightings of people passed out on the grass from the mixed exertion of alcohol absorption and frenzied bead catching. We wandered from campout to campout, catching freebies and making conversation until it got too cold and we could no longer survive on box wine, jerky, and our hard-won, hand-caught cache of individually wrapped sweets. So we went for Japanese and overindulged on sushi instead.

There’s nothing like sobering up at the end of the night by weaving three tiny bikes home through multi-block post party wastelands, in freezing February temps. Gales threw garbage bag tumbleweeds across our paths, and the ever present party ice (aka. Mardi Gras beads) accumulated in drifts. It was a chilly ride, but we made it back safely.

Alfie has packed some clothes and is coming along on another GL.
Brr, too early.

On another morning, day drinking might mean sleeping in, but I needed to hit the road early. Too soon (and too early!) it was time to say goodbye to Caitlin and Jeremy, but saying was eased by the knowledge that I would see them soon in Vegas for the High Rollers Rally. One more stop before Fred and I join forces in Austin, I’m on a timeline…

Not much along LA-82, but this mirror-still pond with a fishing dock.
Captive audience for chatting up strangers, waiting for the free Holly Beach Ferry.
A ferry trip is a nice break, when you’re hauling ass.

My aunt and uncle from previous stays in Houston invited me to a massive Chinese New Year dinner at 6pm. Timing was tight and the wind that dogged me through much of Texas seemed to pick up right on cue over the state line, but I made it just in time for the feast. Mardi Gras to Chinese New Year, let the overindulgences roll!

Ride hard, eat buns.
Begin the Chinese banquet onslaught. This is just one of three tables in our group.

As an aside, over dinner one of the uncles* recalled he once owned a Lambretta back in the day in Hong Kong. I can only imagine the colorful Cantonese curses hurled at that bike.

There’s nothing like putting miles under your wheels and eating a big meal to make for a good night’s sleep.

*Non-blood relations are uncles and aunties in Chinese circles too.

Auntie Chloris and the Chinese New Year morning onslaught.
Turnip cake trifecta! Water chestnut, white carrot, and taro.
Auntie Chloris’ mom made all the turnip cakes from scratch, and these dumplings for later. Respect in droves.
Laundry day. All of it.
Aforementioned dumplings, so beautiful.
The cooking continues all day.
One more feast, at home this time. Abalones, prawn, fish cake in eggplant, congee, food, more food…
This dessert is a nutty, lightly sweet, super dense pudding thing. I’ve never had this before.

I called my parents in Hong Kong over FaceTime (yep, still alive and still riding!) and reveled in my good fortune to spend Chinese New Year with family. The previous new year I found myself camping solo along the Pacific Coast Highway – actually, a totally rewarding experience in different ways.

My stay this time was short though. Fred was landing in Austin just a few hours away, and in the morning I savored a few last turnip cakes for the road.

You know you’re in Texas.

With the sighting of my first Buc-ee’s, I’m truly in Texas now…again!

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