The Gift - Kelly's Story

The Gift – Kelly’s Story

I stand in Scott and Sonya's garage, staring at the blue tarpulin that is half sexy purple curves, chrome trim, of a small machine. I feel Enric's arm around me twinge with excitement, and deduce that in front of me is my motorcycle! Here I am - blazing up and down the hills of San Francisco, hair flying in the opposite direction, heading toward the Bay Bridge on a clear day!...

And wait, I don't know how to ride! BUT, I am looking at this bike in San Diego right now, and I live in Guadalajara. I feel Enric stare trying to deduce my emotions. He does not know that at the same time , my Honda and I are flying across the USA on open roads, Enric alongside, while I have know idea of how I am going to get the machine home.

Enric had a plan. Kelly, Enric, the purple Honda, and Enric's new classic are going to ride over 1000 miles from San Diego to our home in Guadalajara. We are leaving in 2 days. "There is no pressure. If you are nervous, we can leave your bike here." Enric does not mention his nervousness at this point. Moments later, I am in the street straddling the bike and staring at a set of controls that I can not remember how to use. This is not a good sign. Scott appears in front of me with a huge grin on his face, "Kelly, you are so lucky. This is a great bike, and when I took it to Julian, oooohhhhhh! It is just so easy to ride. " I reply to his smile with a weaker one as I try and find the clutch. My heart pounds in fear of the beast I am supposed to control. I find and press the magic yellow ON switch, put the bike in gear and it stalls. Just as I realize how slowly I am making it to Guadalajara, my childhood flashed before my eyes. 5-year old Kelly coasts up and down her suburban cul-de-sac, finally liberated from her training wheels- a free road warrior on two wheels. What difference is a motorcycle, but the addition of a little 250hps?

I start the motor again, and the bike lurches into first. I squeeze the clutch, ease into 2nd and hobble away. For 2 hours, I speed around the neighborhood reaching speeds as high as 15mph. It is fast enough to feel the breeze on my face, and slow enough to allow me to stand up on the pedals do a honking drive by to Scott and Enric. My numb hands decide to call it a day, and I feel glorious moment of accomplishment. At 15 mph, it will take me weeks to drive the length of the Baja peninsula. The next two days are a combination of parking lot learning, strange looks from friends, semi-sleepless nights, and calculations of how many miles we will have to ride each day. Enric constantly assures me that I do not have to do this. My childhood fantasies win, and 72 hours later at 6 am, I face the darkened Highway 5 southbound with a heavy beating in my jacket.

For one hour, I negotiate a stampede of southbound Highway 5 traffic that I had not expected to find. My mind chatter is a non-stop waterfall of swear words that repeat themselves in constant motion of the rhythmic highway bumps. The sun finally peaks out over the coast, and the Tijuana border comes into site. As we warm ourselves over instant coffee, the mind chatter halts. We have made it to México! Moments later, we begin our descent of the Hwy 1.

The first really big hill I face as a 5 year old girl on her first 2 wheeler. I stare down the 25% grade, and begin to eeke my bike downhill at 15 mph for fear that if I went any faster I would fly out of control. Already on the summit accross the valley, Enric watches a line of 18-wheelers follow me with Mexican patience. Otherwise, that first day passed smoothly. We just kept rolling, always upright, and slowly picking up speed. At 6 pm we near our destination, and make a surpise pull out onto a desert road. I thought I had learned enough for one day, but 2 miles of sand still separate me from my hotel. I try to visualize myself as the rider Hedge Peterson in a photograph I had seen where he is flying through the Sahara desert with a huge cone of sand exploding behind him. I look behind me for a cone of sand; there is none. But I never fall.

Our trip down the Baja peninsula is one of the most glorious trips of my life. We wave at acrobatic cacti, watch whales in Guerrero Negro, take pictures of our motorcycles. Each day as I ride, I think that if I can do this, anything is possible. 1999 becomes 2000, Enric asks me to marry him, and the sexy Honda finds a new home in Guadalajara.