I forgot to mention : Vincent from Las Posas called me when I was waiting for my flight in New York. The evening after he had left me at my motel, he got drunk from to much tequila, lost his phone and lost my contact. He just got his phone back. I was lucky I had other alternatives to leave the bike. Still a nice guy!
Thursday 11 September 2008, Friday.3 days before I have to take my plane home .. confusion. Since Paul from Orange County did not return my phone call today, I decide to call Simon from Yuma to tell him I changed my mind and that I would descend tomorrow and would be in Yuma around midday, Saturday. I camp in the state park of point Mugu, just north of Malibu and choose a site next to a German Mercedes truck, more or less Unimog style. Nobody is there, a bike that has his place on the back of the truck is parked nearby. I expect some young adventurers, now surfing on the beach. But suddenly a nearly bald man comes out and we have a quite interesting conversation. I hear a wife is hidden in the truck. I will only get a glimpse of her, sitting in the passenger seat the next day when they leave. In stead of showing me his truck, he gets his computer and shows me pictures of the inside. I suppose and hope this couple is an exception, but what an amazing contrast with the extraordinary openness and hospitality I have met in the last 2 months. He also proudly announces me he will make an extra cup of coffee in the morning, but that promise does not materialize. But the coffee exists because he walks over in the morning with a huge, good smelling cup in his hand.
So with a not so nice end of this fantastic journey in mind, I prepare for the tough ride through the Friday traffic of LA. I return to Malibu to get fuel and when done, a guy in his thirties, with a large tattoo on his leg, comes over . All the way from Canada he while looking to the maple flag sticker on the front. No, from Belgium and at the end of my 12000 miles Alaska journey, but I am in hurry because I have to ride to Yuma to try to store my bike. Some hesitation during seconds... But I can store your bike. And he walks to his van where some 4 tattooed guys are waiting : Las Posas, a locally owned and operated painting company in big letters on the back of the van. I just have to put my man on the job and in 10 min I will be back and show you my house, my family, my business. Your bike will be save because I cannot ride a bike anymore for a long time... got 2 DUI over the last 10 years.
Why not give it a try, will see his house and family and I can still take off later. So while I have a coffee at the nearby Starbucks, Vincent returns after 10 min and he takes me to his house in a clean neighborhood. (Camarillo-Ventura). We leave the bike in front of his house, with the helmet and all my stuff on it...It's ok, nobody here will touch anything in front of Vince's house. Waw, impressive. And off we are to his office, then to a house where he has to give a proposal, to another house to pick up a signed contract, which I have to read completely, to an ongoing job where his 2 guys need paint, to a paint shop to buy the paint. Meanwhile he is on the phone, goes through his papers to find the house, and tells me his story. Ex hell's Angel, drug dealer, but now a hardworking entrepreneur taking care of his family. I like the guy, his enthusiasm and his f..cking redneck talk . Out on the way to his appointments he makes a detour and stops in front of a liquor shop. And he takes some time inside. My heart accelerates. I realize I have no clue where I am, somewhere in the suburbs of LA, no idea how to get back to my bike and sitting in the van of an ex(?) heavy boy. But it is all ok and he takes me to a Motel 6, which I have to refuse him paying for, and leaves me for the day. Tonight I cannot take care of you, but tomorrow my brother will pick you up for a ride and at midday I have a BBQ for your at my place. And that is the last thing I saw of Vincent. Anyway, I already had taken the decision to accept the invitation of the FIT representative in LA to store the bike at his house. At 7pm the phone rang : Paul from Orange County. The call I had expected the day before. They had just arrived home from Cambria. In the beginning I thought it was Paul from Palmsprings, one of my 3 biking buddies on Highway 101, who had proposed to help me with storing the bike in a storage park near his place.
At 8pm Claude from Moro Bay called me to tell that the son of his friend in San Diego was enthusiastic about the idea of receiving a GS traveler. Without hesitation I called imediately Gaspard. It felt nice to speak French after 2 months of American. Gaspard simply told me that he was expecting me the next day.
To make it short : the bike is stored in a garage in between a 30y old Bentley and a Porsche 914, and I spend an excellent weekend with extremely friendly Gaspard and Breea. We closed the weekend and the 17.500km journey in the best Sushi place I have ever been. Breea promised me that she would convince Gaspard to accept my offer to take her out for some weekends on my bike. They also promised not to clean the bike. I like the Alaskan flies on the windscreen.
