Jupiter's Travels Revisited

[Hudson]

Part III. The Decision

Matt wasn’t buying it. Not the least because he was in flagrant violation of The Rule. The one that determined how young a person you could date without the risk of being labeled a pervert. “Half my age plus seven? What the **** kinda rule is that?”

John shrugged. Hard to argue with The Rule. It nearly always kept him out of trouble. He took a swig of beer, laid down his poker cards, and faced Matt.

“Look, you can keep dating younger girls, Matt, but The Rule was made up for a reason. Break it, and yeah…the sex will be wild, you’ll feel great for a few weeks, but pretty soon, you’re gonna want to tear your eyes out when she just want to talk. Nuthin. Nada. Not a single thing in common.”

“********.”

That raised some eyebrows. It came from Tommy, whose usual contribution to any of the group’s arguments during their weekly poker game was a friendly grunt. It was often difficult to decipher as to which side of the argument the grunt was in support.

“The Rule is just basic math. Doesn’t work. What you really need to know is whether you are culturally compatible. Can you talk about the same thing and have a common and understood shared experience? The Rule doesn’t answer that."

Everyone stopped. Tommy’s customary silence on all matters now had the group listening with rapt attention. At the very least, the group would obtain yet another rare nugget into the workings of Tommy’s mind. At the very best, this was going to be epic. The moment now suddenly demanded their full and undivided attention. Tommy continued.

“The Cartoon Rule. You start talking about the cartoons you watched when you were a kid. Start off basic…the standards. Bugs Bunny. Tom & Jerry. Make em feel safe, comfortable”

******* hell. This was epic.

“Scooby Doo!” volunteered Donny. Tommy eyed him with sarcastic contempt.

“No, no! Not Scooby Doo, you...you novice. You use Scooby Doo, you think she’s with you, but she’s way off! You talking original Scooby? Scooby with Scrappy Doo? The New Adventures of Scooby Doo? That’s like a thirty year gap. You have to be precise”

“The Superfriends” shared John.

“Yes. Yes. You got it, John. Get them thinking there's a shared moment. Flintstones and ****. Then you step it up a notch. See how they do. Younger ones, they start wobbling at Josie and the ***** Cats. You hit em hard: Inch High, Private Eye. The Mighty Hercules. Davy and Goliath. They can’t keep up.”

Tommy was unstoppable now.

“The real ones, the ones you can share a lifetime with? They’re with you all the way from Underdog to Josie and the Pussycats. And keep coming back until Peabody and Sherman and Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch. If they can follow you that far, you know you gotta keeper.”

Matt interrupted the ensuing silence while the group was contemplating the implications of this new Cartoon Rule.

“No, you know you got? You got a cougar, you moron. ******* Wheelie and the Chopper Bunch. What kinda hippy dippy crap is that? Who wants to bag a girl who remembers the seventies in vivid detail?”

 

[HotRodZilla]

Did I miss something? WTF happened to dinner? Is this the break before the flashback?? Come on...I can read a good book in two or three days...This is dragging ass...Hurry up and type!

 

[Hudson]

Opinions were never in short supply with the Braintrust. Wisdom, however, made infrequent appearances.

Worse, like an itinerant in-law, Wisdom never telegraphed its appearance schedule, but rather simply showed up, unexpectedly and usually at inopportune moments. Regular Wednesday poker nights assured the Braintrust of at least rare sightings, if not regular Wisdom visits.

The Cartoon Rule was not one of those visits.

John, Tommy, and Donny were a rare breed: native Seattle-ites. They grew up exactly three streets apart, and had been riding together since age eight, first on BMX bikes (or what passed for such in the early seventies), and later, minibikes, then motorcycles.

John hid his first motorcycle, a used candy apple red Honda CB750, at Donny’s house for the first two years, because his mom refused to let him ride. Donny’s dad, single and raising Donny, could care less, and Tommy’s parents were just so happy he wasn’t dropping acid or sniffing glue that the idea of a sixteen year old with a motorcycle was no big deal.

Matt was a late-comer to the Braintrust, a navy brat with seven schools already under his belt when his dad finally landed a permanent post in Seattle as a recruiter. His sudden emergence in the ninth grade was nothing short of memorable. While the other kids avoided this brash, over-confident and somewhat irritating kid, he earned his lifetime induction into the Braintrust the week after he was suspended for lighting an M80 he had wrapped with dirty diapers just before wedging them into the exhaust pipe of Vice Principal’s bright yellow Corvette.

Years later, **** stains and pampers’ fragments were still visible on the eaves of the middle school next to the reserved parking stall. It would be another twenty years before Matt was formerly diagnosed with ADHD, but then he was just known as “a total spazz.”

The Braintrust had survived for thirty years, growing strong during high school and college (where they all attended the UDub and shared a rental house in the Ravenna District), even withstanding the group’s various girlfriends and their hopeless efforts to break up the band. The Braintrust was there to console when Tommy’s parents died in an automobile crash after returning over the mountain passes from a Christmas trip to Spokane.

They were there to support when Donny was diagnosed with non-Hodgkins lymphoma, still in remission ten years going. They were there to help pick up the pieces when Matt returned to find his wife of two years gone, house nearly vacant, bank accounts emptied, and a note written on the refrigerator door in permanent marker: “I can’t take your **** any more. I’ve found someone else. Just leave me alone.”

It was usually during those tougher moments when Wisdom made its entry, with either Matt, Donny, John, or Tommy sharing a suggestion that went far beyond the accrued life skills of the Braintrust, leading to some deep insight that later resolved a pending conflict. It wasn't the case either that any of the Braintrusts members were any wiser than each other. Donny was in middle management at software company, Tommy taught business courses at the local community college, Matt ironically was a youth camp counselor, and John was merely the most financially successful of the Braintrust.

They rode less frequently than in their college days. Now it was a weekend day ride through the passes, and perhaps two of the Braintrust would do a long weekend in north eastern Washington, or through the roads canvassing the fossil beds near central Oregon. Each maintained their motorcycles, though some were more attentive or skilled than others, and there was always the stray weekend when everyone would join in, wrenching on their bikes together over pizza and beer.

Tommy had the FJ1100, which he bought years after it first came out when he could finally afford a used one. Donny had a CBR750, which he was perennially looking to trade in on something more grown up. Matt had a Concours, which was at eighty thousand miles was nearing the end of its useful life, but after years of struggle to rebuild his finances following his ex-wife’s sudden departure, was what he could muster. And then John, with an early GS. Not quite the adventure bike it would later become, but something fitting for a lawyer and rugged in its own right.

That it took more than a year for Wisdom to show up to resolve John’s dilemma was not surprising. He had mentioned it, the offer from Ted Simon, re-telling the punch line like it was a sick joke soon after the dinner with Simon. To his dismay, no one laughed. Instead, they all talked openly about how they’d rearrange their lives, if they could, to accommodate this “opportunity.” John silently believed the Braintrust simply unappreciated what was truly at stake, and for a while he took pains to re-educate them on how hard it was to reach the point where partnership was just within reach. They showed little apparent sympathy for his dilemma.

He’d let it die down, only to raise it every couple of months when the Braintrust asked him about it, or when he’d let on about receiving updates on the progress of Simon’s plans to raise funding and sponsorship from BMW. Then it lay fallow for months. Until tonight, when Wisdom knocked, unexpectedly, after what turned out to be a false start with the Cartoon Rule.

“Hey guys,” said Donny. “When was the last time we went out for long ride?”

 

[HotRodZilla]

Sweet...

 

[hppants]

more, please...

 

[RadioHowie]

 

[Panman]

Dave one question, is it Eagle Rare or maybe some 1911 that's fueling this. Should I stop out for a chat?

 

[Hudson]

Panman, I prefer to think that said beverages serve as lubrication, not fuel.

All motivations and backstories will be revealed in the Epilogue.

Suggest you locate some Eagle's Rare 17 or 1911, and sip slowly. This will take some time. Though maybe I better up my game. I'm still far behind:

1. Smart Car Tipping

2. Hey, Nice Beemer You Got

but gaining ground on:

Does the Forum have a computer bug?

 

[hppants]

When will we be able to say this.....

 

[Hudson]

Oregon chipseal isn’t anyone’s favorite riding surface.

The grey, uneven texture obscures otherwise obvious road hazards like loose gravel, oil, or spilled diesel. Regular riding on it will put a noticeable dent in a rider’s wallet, chewing up tires one after another. But in the right season, preferably summer after the heavy rains have washed away the hazards, riding the chip sealed roads of northeastern Oregon can be pure heaven. And three back-to-back days of heaven was what all of them needed to replenish their love of riding.

Each day began with an early morning departure, just after the deer sought shelter but before the local sheriff had begun his rounds. You have most of the canyon roads to yourself. The crew took full advantage of the Sunday morning to wind out their bikes, compressing the suspension entering the high speed sweepers, and practicing pushing the ends of their bars hard through the tighter hairpins. Two hundred miles later, the creek beds, canyons, and plateaus were again vanquished as the crew pulled into the quiet town of Fossil. They hoped that the lone gas station would be open to refuel, and that the nearby café would still be serving home fries, omelets, and those crispy biscuits with homemade jam. They were not disappointed.

During the hearty breakfast, John had quietly come to grips with his decision. Riding was in his bones, something he knew he had to do or it would continue to nag at him without mercy. There was no going back. What remained was only the delicate task of persuading his firm to let him take the time off needed to complete the South American leg. That might be enough to quench his thirst, and he'd need to replenish his finances in any event.

He’d approach the senior partner, the one he trusted the most and who had carefully guided him through his rise from lowly junior associate. He'd request up to a six month leave. John figured that reaching Tiera Del Fuego would take four months at the earliest, and he already had banked nine weeks’ worth of accrued vacation. Of course, in a firm, there is no such thing as accrued vacation in a law firm. Vacation is only as time a lawyer is not billing, to be made up later with 80 hour work weeks upon return. He''s already banked 1400 billable hours, and it would be hell, for sure, to make up the rest, but John was sure he could convince the senior partner of his commitment to make back the time.

That still left seven to twelve weeks to account for. Worst thing, John thought, and he’d request an unpaid leave, perhaps selling his boat to finance the hit, and rent out his house. The senior partner might be disappointed, but he’d surely understand, even if it meant John delaying his professional progress. Hadn't John worked hard enough to prove his commitment over the past seven years, working weekends, rarely taking vacations longer than four to five days, whatever it took to prove he was in the game?

No, He’d come back after reaching Tiera Del Fuego with renewed energy and commitment, and resume his rank at the head of the pack. That is, once he finished fighting off the other senior associates who would surely use his absence to curry favor, possibly even steal a client or two. John was suddenly having renewed doubts, but quickly pushed them back, as he announced his plan to Tommy, Donny, and Matt.

 

[Hudson]

It was the last fifty miles that cemented his decision.

The familiar signs signaling that he was getting closer to home, closer to the end of the trip, and closer to the return of long days, late nights, and constant emails and phone calls that were his work life. The trip hadn’t just been a temporary reprieve. It reminded him, painfully this time, of the toll his job was taking, and for the first time, the glow of making law partner had begun to dim, if just slightly.

He still wasn’t sure about how to approach it with his mentor. He started practicing in his head, well before his exit arrived.

“I’ve been thinking about a short leave, a mini-sabbatical, to recharge.” That immediately seemed presumptuous; no one had taken a sabbatical despite the firm’s stated policy of allowing them, and only partners were eligible.

“I need a more diverse perspective; this trip will give me time to think through new opportunities to diversify my practice. Maybe enable outreach to foreign clients.” That sounded pathetic even to John.

He could flat out lie. While John prided himself on avoiding the lies that came easily to certain lawyers, he was struggling with this one. Maybe claim he had depression he needed to work through. Or substance abuse…maybe this was a way to rehab and wean himself off…cocaine…no…crack; **** no, too dirty…how about prescription drugs? No, it would taint his prospects when he came back. And they’d know if he faked a heart attack, because the absence of co-pays and bills for his insurance benefits would be obvious. Crap.

A death in the family, perhaps. Maybe a close relative, perhaps due to suicide. It sounded promising, but then his mentor would ask questions, and John knew he’d be digging a deeper hole to keep the lie alive.

No. It was obvious. He had to come clean, and probably offer up something tangible. Cut out his bonus, maybe even rebate his salary. This would be very expensive for him, but money always talks with lawyers. Now doubts about the decision began to creep back in.

And then he was pulling into the condo’s garage, and like that, the trip was over and the weekend’s magic was fading away.

He parked the bike and grabbed his top case with his gear and rode the elevator to his apartment. Opening the door, his nostrils were hit with the smell of something wonderful cooking in the kitchen, reminding John he was hungry, and then suddenly, she was there with a kiss.

“How was the trip?”

“Awesome. We rode 400 miles just today, maybe 1200 miles the whole weekend. The roads were amazing, twisty and barely any traffic. And no tickets!”

“So what did you guys do, just ride the whole time” she asked. It was a familiar question, one he heard regularly from those who didn’t ride, and the only response was the one John gave: “Yeah, we just rode. It was incredible.”

 

[Hudson]

Explaining a motorcycle trip to a non-rider, even someone you are personally intimate with, is a bit like explaining the relevance of Bob Dylan’s switch from acoustic to electric. The common response, “that sounds nice”, is always spoken in a tone that conveys they have little idea what you are talking about, and even less interest in getting deeper into the explanation. Like Dylan, motorcycle riding is too much of a discovery, of a personal experience, of a moment in time, to share with anyone except other motorcyclists.

That’s why John usually shot pictures with his small handheld camera, of places he visited, food he ate, and why he tried to capture, in his own perspective, the look of the people he came across, in as natural a state as he could capture with a camera (which is why he preferred a small camera, which lacked the fidelity but was inconspicuous so long as you turned off the fake shutter noise). He used the images to try convey the experience without having to use words. She always responded to the pictures in a way she never did to a vocal narration of his trip.

Dinner was wonderful. His girlfriend was a gifted cook, and the taste of a proper home cooked meal was always better after a few days of living off diners and fast food, no matter how good the BBQ or pie joints were.

He helped with the dishes, and tried to ease into a discussion of the decision.

“I was doing some thinking on the trip.”

“About?”

Here goes nothing.

“Stuff….Big stuff. Work…my partnership track… Us.”

That last part was a rookie mistake, He should have stopped at “partnership track.” “Us” is not to be spoken lightly, and requires all measure of planning and build up. You don’t say “us” unless you intend on having an “us” conversation.

“Us?”

He quickly corrected. “Well, me, really. Being on the road with the guys, it reminded me of the time before the firm. I had forgotten how happy I was on a bike.”

He had done it again, again without thinking. “You’re not happy?” She stopped now, and turned off the faucet and studied his face closely. He was already backtracking.

“No…I mean, us, I am happy about us. I was talking about work.”

“I thought it was you that told me the partnership track was not about being happy, it just was about being committed enough. Are you doubting your commitment” Her tone implied skepticism about his efforts to steer this discussion back to work.

“I was just thinking. That’s what I do when I ride. It’s just me, inside that helmet with all the silence. So I think.”

She let him continue.

 

[Hudson]

“I’ve got maybe two years’ tops, maybe just one year before I am up for a vote. And when I make partner, it’s not like the lottery. I have to buy in, and it’s another three years before I’m caught up. So that means the same hours. Same interrupted weekends.”

“So I ‘m still committed, but before I piss away another five years, maybe it’s time to take an adventure. Because then I’ve got to cross the finish line, land it, and after then we’ve got to start on the next phase of us.”

The pause was long and uncomfortable.

“Is the adventure the trip with the English guy? Mr. Jupiter?”

“Yes”.

“How long?”

“Four months. Maybe six tops. Just till we to Tiera Del Fuego, then I come back home.”

“Six Months?! I don’t see you for six months?” Her eyes were beginning to gather tears.

“No…no. You...you come with me.” He hadn’t discussed any of this with Ted, and he was improvising now. “You and me. It’s time we finally shared these adventures. Not just pictures this time. The real deal.”

She was crying now. “John, I’d go anywhere with you, you know that. But this motorcycle thing…it’s your thing. I like it…but I like it for you. I like seeing how you smile when you come home after a trip. I like how you treat me, how you miss me. But I don’t have a dream to ride to South America. That’s your dream. And six months? What if something happens to you? What if…what if you start thinking about us? And what about this Ted guy? It makes no sense that he shows up suddenly and expects you can put your life on hold.”

He hadn’t thought it through, that much was becoming clear. He was so focused on how he’d get the firm to go along, it hadn’t really occurred to him what this would mean for her. And for them. This was all becoming too complicated.

He could only hold her tightly and tell her honestly “I don’t have all the answers. And it’s not Ted. He’s going to do this with or without me. I have to do this for me. Driving up here tonight, I realized I let twenty years slide by ignoring the thing that makes me a whole person. I can always be a lawyer, and I can always work towards partner. And I’m almost complete with you. But I’m not….I’m not all complete, and killing myself for partnership isn’t going to complete me.”

And while her apprehension was just beginning, John suddenly felt a giant weight had been lifted. Just by being as honest with himself as he’d been in the longest time.

 

[mcatrophy]

Ok, you've got me thoroughly hooked. Really well written.

Please don't wait another 5 months for the continuation.

 

[Uncle Hud]

Good. Waiting patiently for more.

Well, do I have to wait even longer?!?!

 

[snackbauer]

I had to reread the whole thing, forgot too much. I took notes this time.

It's gettin' good.

 

[1maxman]

Great writing, great read, can't wait for the next installment, thanks.

 

[hppants]

Still subscribed.

(My 2 pennies - The girlfriend can be pissed, but she's gotta stay home. Ted ain't gonna like her - I can feel it. Plus, she's probably hot as a firecracker and that's going to get weird. Just a thought.)

 

[Hudson]

Agreed HP. Question is whether she'll still be there when he returns.

If he returns...

 

[Uncle Hud]

"If he returns ..."? Oh, come ON!!!

He's got to return, but she won't be there, but he'll have "grown" on the trip and accepts that she wasn't the one, and he finds a new babe (with wrenches in her overalls) when he brings the bike into the shop for new tires ... and that sounds too much like Harlequin.