A friend said, “promise me that if you’re running on fumes, you’ll call me before you run completely dry, ok?”, and I responded…
Let me tell you a story that might help you understand
During the tail end of 2020, I took the 1125CR on a road trip over to the Sierra Nevada. At this time, much of California, and that part especially, was covered in smoke from wildfires. I wanted to see it for myself, as well as to ride some of the national park roads in the rare time when there was no traffic. Also on the docket was a stop at General Sherman, the largest tree in the world by volume, and to hit up a bunch of roads I hadn’t ridden yet for RoadRatings.com
The route was all planned out, with gas stops at reasonable distances, places to stay, etc. So I ride out, and have a wonderful time with the smooth tarmac and beautiful scenery all to myself
Even the worst of the smoke didn’t give me too much trouble as I continued deeper and deeper into the wilderness. A couple of roads were closed due to active wildfires, but I found alternate routes easily enough.
Well into the mountains, I start taking the in-and-out section of CA 180 with maybe 40 miles left of gas, easily enough to make it to the Kings Canyon Lodge gas station I had planned on. It’s on a side-road of CA 180, a bit beat up and narrow, but still quite enjoyable. On getting there, I see some weird pumps, and a sign saying that they’re America’s oldest double gravity pumps. Cool!
Then I see the small sign to the right, “closed”. Shit. Check my phone for the nearest gas station. No service. Shit. So I start heading back to the only other structure I saw on the way in, a ranger station maybe 10 miles back. No one’s home. Shit
So I keep going, back to the intersection of CA 180 and CA 245, where I last saw a person, at the park entrance gate. I pull up, with the fuel light having been on for maybe 15 miles. I didn’t notice when it came on, and it’s only good for about 20 miles total. Asking the ranger where the nearest gas is, he says, “Just down CA 180, thata way.” – “how far?” – “oh, about 15 miles, maybe a bit more.” Shit. After some back and forth, it came to light that he didn’t have a gas can, a way to siphon gas, and couldn’t leave his post to drive me to the station to get a can. Shit shit shit.
So I start heading that way, knowing I’ll run out of gas within the next couple of miles, and that there likely won’t be anyone coming on the road due to the fires. Fortunately, I’m heading westward out of the mountains, so it’s about 80% downhill, where I put it in neutral, turn off the engine and coast, and then turn it back on and feather the throttle to get up hills.
After 45 nerve-wracking minutes, I see the shining beacon of a Valero in the distance, downhill, and coast in, fill up, and continue on the trip to see General Sherman and other oddities on side roads
As I’m making my way up the Eastern side of the Sierra Nevada. I head out from one of the small towns dotting US 395 and see a Fish and Wildlife truck going a bit slower than traffic. I edge past him ever so slowly. Maybe 20 minutes later, I see him pull up next to me on the highway, lights flashing. Apparently, he was just about to call CHP, because he could barely catch up to me in his truck, which he says is speed-limited to 90 mph. This on an empty, straight desert highway with very little traffic. He writes the ticket, I’m disgruntled, and I go on my way, already planning how I’ll defend it in court.
Some weeks later, I get a piece of mail saying that the court date, which was written for January, was actually going to be one year later than when it was originally written. Ok, no problem. Kind of weird that they’d want to wait so long, but I get it, small town, big fires, they had more important things to deal with than speeding tickets. It would give me plenty of time to look into how to argue the ticket and make plans to show up to court and have it dismissed/reduced.
A few months go by, and a week into February, I get a piece of mail saying that I had missed my court date, was found guilty, had to pay the fine, and got the points on my license. Looking back at the ticket, the cop had written it for Jan of 2020 (over a year in the past), and the correction was to set the date for Jan 2021. Seems the officer and I made the same mistake, except he got to correct it, and I got shafted.
So, in both instances…the gas, and the ticket…where could I have asked for help? I knew I was in a rough situation, but the moment of circumstance had all but determined the outcome. The time to ask for help for each would have been before I had known either problem existed. By the time I knew I needed help, it was too late, and there was nothing to be done.
More poignantly, by the time I’m in a way that I need to ask friends for financial help, the momentum of crippling poverty will have all but overtaken me.
Behind the Mind 