minutes late

The motorcycle ran towards the outside of the four-lane sweeper and hit 90 mph when the motor finally gave out. "Damn it," I screamed into the helmet, thinking I ran out of gas. The bike surged to life allowing me to avoid a Toyota Camry and I attempt to ride the bike towards my exit; 1 1/4 miles away. "I just filled the tank 50 miles ago,” I reminded myself as all the electricals flashed and the bike shook violently before falling silent.

I kept giving the bike gas hoping to clear out the bike's throat and keep her running until my exit, all to no avail. Coasting at 75 mph, I decided to take an earlier exit and finally parked the bike on top of a curb. Removing the passenger seat exposed a broken lug on the positive battery's cable. I wedged the broken cable into the battery terminal in the hopes that it could last one more freeway exit. Taking an illegal left hand turn I reentered the highway and soon found out the bike wouldn’t last another exit.

Being gentle with the throttle, I merged into traffic; narrowly avoiding a truck speeding past when the electrics went out again. Coasting the bike through my off ramp's s-turns began and onto the curb on Hawthorne Blvd. I began pushing the bike to the nearest car audio store/mechanics-any place that would have some random tools. After 5 blocks I arrived at an AM PM gas station. Removing the seat I thought about the problem before going inside and asking if I could borrow some tools.

"What about a box knife," I ask. "Nope," he replied leaning back against a display of cigarettes. "I used this letter opener to open boxes.” "Alright, then let me borrow that," I say and he hands me the plastic letter opener with recessed razor blade. Outside I begin clawing at the heat shrink tubing around the lug until I expose some copper wire between the lug and the sheathing.

The lug is crimped too tight to be pulled off by hand and tighten around the battery terminal so I devise another plan to secure the cable to the terminal. Using the letter opener I cut the trickle charger-cord that is hardwired to the battery and began trimming away at the plastic until the wire is exposed. Wrapping the strand of wire in between the sheathing and lug, I twist the wire taut and return the letter opener. "Thanks, any tape?" I ask. He hands me a roll of making tape, which I grab to finish the job.

Tapping the whole thing together provided enough of a connection to allow the bike to run, at least on highway streets. “Rob, I had some motorcycle issues.” I said before mounting the bike and continuing to work. “I’ll be 15- minutes late.”

more viscous

U-turns and errant lane changes posed today's greatest risk during my commute and I was only 2-miles away from work in Torrance. Crenshaw Blvd's steep incline and camber-less 45 mph turns were met with a indifferent driver mid-u-turn around a sweeper with a barrier obscuring the road ahead. Light on the rear brake and heavy on the front brake allowed me to dance around the situation while avoiding a rear end slide and I continued my trajectory. Half a mile later and the driver of a grey sedan driver took a hard right from a perpendicular street and drifted three lanes wide so he could get in the left hand turn lane. I pulled ahead of him, turned around and made the international gesture for 'roll your windows down' by air cranking up tothe red light.

"You nearly hit me," I exclaimed.
"Sorry, Sorry," he replied.
"Not good enough.." I said as he sped off. Taking the back way through a housing track, I turned onto Pacific Coast Highway and continued west for another miles before a bus began to turn.

The bus driver coasted through a stop sign on an adjacent driveway in-front of my path of travel before deciding on the middle of three lanes. I veered to the outer lane, preparing myself for an upcoming right-hand turn. The bus driver decided to take the slow lane-change and began to drift into my lane; pitching me against the concrete curb. Staying on the gas I sped towards the closing aperture and ahead of the bus.

Miles later I was speeding through the uphill, positive cambered, decreasing radius turn onto the 405 freeway at a smart 45 mph. Miles later, putting along in the carpool lane heading northbound, a late-model Honda VFR passed me at a quick clip. I accelerated to watch as he filtered though upcoming traffic. He rode fast and jerky; as if he doubted his own control of the motorcycle.

I caught up to him, changed lane splitting lanes and proceeded to pass him. As traffic grew more viscous I got back over to his lane and began filtering through cars only to see him roar past in the emergency lane adjacent the fast lane. I watched as him black helmet and red bike shrank and melted into the pixalation of traffic ahead.