CHAPTER THIRTEEN - The Road Trip

I looked at the plate several times as I wanted to make sure there weren't any other interpretations of what I was seeing. But after what seemed like minutes, I turned to find Lance peering off over the railing of the outdoor deck, seemingly contemplating some deep dark thoughts. I could see the tiny veins at his temple pulsing and the muscles of his jaw clenching and relaxing as if he was nervously waiting my next comment.

Nothing I had available to me on the tip of my tongue seemed like the appropriate thing to say. He's obviously had time to think about whatever it was that ailed him. Time enough to wrestle with it. Time enough to get over the initial reaction. Time enough to order a personalized tag. It was apparent that he had already shifted into his "What do I do now?" mode, and wanted the world to get out of his way to enable him to complete the next, and possibly final, stage of his life.

But I hadn't. What had begun minutes earlier as an ol' buddy reunion, was being rewritten instantly in front of my eyes; I didn't need to know what was wrong - there was likely little I'd be able to do about that - but I did need know what I could do to help.

I looked up at Lance, still staring aimlessly over the landscape, past the highway out front, over the marshland and eventually to the horizon, where it meets the Ocean. Trying to search for the slightest hint of a smile, or some sign that this was another one of his practical jokes, I found none. What I saw was a man 5 years older than the one I met 10 months earlier, with an untouched Budweiser in his hand.

I let out a barely audible heavy sigh, looked down at my hands, now busily tearing off shards of soggy beer bottle label. Lance dribbled out a comment that was to change my world.

"Ya know, Muthuh … I've always wanted to make a road trip across this country on Petey. Always kinda thought I'd have to hear some terrible news from my doctor before I'd have a good reason to go."

I wondered at that moment, if he was teasing me. Whatever it was he had, whatever reason he felt he needed to accept his Year-to-Live, would he be physically able to even consider something like that? It's funny, ya know. I had always wanted to do a cross-country road trip - both coasts, both ways. Promised myself on numerous occasions that I'd do so if ever I have a short time, and I'd do it immediately in case my strength started to give out.

But hell, everyone on my Fathers side of the family lived well into their 90's going way back, and on my mothers side not as remarkable, but lived long lives nonetheless. By the time I was likely given a time frame to my own death, I'd be pissing into my diapers again anyway.

"Ya know, I never thought I'd have to hear some terrible news from my doctor giving me a good reason to make a road trip across the country", he said, mimicking his own words, but at the same time confirming his intentions.

Slowly breaking his intense gaze at nothing in particular, he turned his head and met my eyes. "I'm gonna do it ya know. Thinking about in the Spring after the winter breaks, headin' south. Key West, New Orleans, Mexico maybe, Southern California. Loop back north and back through Wyoming and Montana, up into Canada. Never seen Niagara Falls... I wanna do that before … well…"

His voice trailed off at the finality of his plans. Never seen Niagara Falls, and never will again. How many times have I pulled out a map of the United States and dreamed which route I'd take. Always seemed to have a need for a route. Didn't want to miss anything important because I hadn't planned it carefully enough. But then I was always under some time restrictions... had to be home in a couple weeks. If I had the rest of my life to wander, would I toss the maps and just, well... wander?

And what about Kim and the kids? True, they were pretty much grown up now, and had their entire lives ahead of them. If I had a year to live, could I roam around the country on my bike depriving them of the last few memories of their father, and husband? Lance didn't have these worries. Widowed himself, and childless. I envied him in a way. Saddened on one hand that he had no one to share his life with, but envious that his unencumbered lifestyle enabled him to pursue this last dream.

In reality, only a few moments had gone by, but my mind was racing. "Well, let's have it, dude. What's wrong?"

"Cancer."

Short, sweet, no long story, no excuses. Cancer. I suppose that'll be indicative of how he's changed. No time for long drawn out stories. Time is valuable. This was not a shock to him at this point; he's had time to adjust. I was still absorbing it, however, so I was grateful when he surprised me with, "Drink your beer, got a long story to tell ya."

"I last saw you at an intersection with you heading home, and me heading down the road with some guys wife on the back after our pool game, remember?" Not waiting for an answer, he went on. "I went to the Doc a few days before and was told of some suspicious XRays they took during a physical. Just before my ride to Hanging Rock, where I met ya, they took some more chest XRays, looked 'em over real good and told me they wanted me to come in the following day to see a specialist. Said they suspected cancer in my lungs."

Lance took a moment to upend his bottle, maybe to let that sink in, but I suspect to keep his voice from quavering. The bottle settled back in his lap, he went on.

"Fuckin' Lung Cancer. Man, it's all over my family, too. Mother died of it, and an uncle with it now. I don't remember anything pretty about it at the end, but they say it's relatively painless until it spreads a lot." He took a long moment here, as if recalling some childhood memory of his mother perhaps.

I just kept my mouth shut. I've never had any brushes with Cancer in my family. Old age on my father's side, and coronary disease on my mom's is all I can claim. So I have no clue what his prognosis is. It was clear, though, that it was eating him up inside emotionally.

He used words like Stage 4 and terminal and quality of life - all phrases that seemed to come easy to him. When he paused, I asked a one word question.

"Treatment?"

Lance again looked down at his growing collection of beer labels in front of him, smoothing down the corners til they dried and stuck as a semi-permanent adornment to the table. He slowly shook his head side-to-side. "Stage 4 means they got it pretty fuckin' late. Already signs of it spreading to lymph nodes and the radiation didn't seem to help any. The chemo was so god-awful I quit it. Besides, they were just attempting to prolong the inevitable. I'd rather go out with dignity and in one piece... and after I take a little ride."

We spoke on the front deck of Bullfeathers til after dark. Carm had left for the day and Tom, the owner and good friend had come out to check on us often, but I think we looked as if we needed some space. Customers came and went, bikes rolled in, and rolled out before their pipes got cold. Nobody stopped to interrupt thankfully. Lance's chances were limited at best, and he didn't want to stretch out the inevitable. He figured that without the debilitating aggressive treatment, he was shortening things a bit, but they would be relatively painless and eventually the pain would be managed with drugs. He expected a good 8 months of riding time before he got to be a menace to himself and others. Being a menace to himself drew a good chuckle from both of us, but he seemed to wander off the deep end thinking about that.

I tried really hard not to think about the trip ahead of him. I'd want to lay out a big map and help him plan it. But in my mind I was already doing that. Hell, in my mind I was already on the trip.

"So, what's your plans? You serious about a long bike ride?"

"Serious as hell. When things get too bad I'll either just sell it and fly home, or ride til I can't ride anymore and find a bridge abutment to introduce myself to!" Finally the sparkle in his eyes comes back - he's looking forward to this.

"Wish you had told me earlier - looks like you've been faced with this shit for a while now." I nodded towards Petey and the prophetic license tag.

"Well, three weeks ago I had to make a decision about treatment, and none of the options were long-term. I could either try to add a few months with treatment and whimper along til it got to the point where I was no longer in control, or take things by the balls now, and go out in style... if just a bit sooner"

I can't say as I'd do it any other way. Refuse debilitating treatment that only prolongs your misery or live well for a shorter period of time. If there was no chance of beating it, that's what I'd do, too.

"Damn" was all I could think of to say. The silence that followed was painful in itself. "Looks like you got some riding to do. When are ya leaving?"

"Dunno. Gonna get my shit in order, sell stuff, give stuff away, figure out where I'm going and leave late February or so... head down to Daytona for the rally, hit the Keys and stay south til it warms up. Wanna ride a ways with me?"

Well, that's an easy question to answer. I usually head south for the rally myself anyway, as much as I hate rallies, I usually go stay on the outskirts, camping behind the Fireside Bar away from all the crazy bastards that make up the majority of bike week.

"Absolutely. Might take in the Keys with you, but can't stay too long as I have a trip to Colorado planned sometime in Spring, too. Man this really sucks, bud."

"I'm gettin' used to it." It didn't look like it to me, though. "I just want to be able to make it to the west coast - what happens from there, I don't care."

I bought another pair of Buds from Tom, making his rounds to the outside deck. I kinda envisioned those special effect videos where people are hurriedly moving about the screen on fast forward while somebody is in the same scene in normal motion. All the customers coming and going, and except for piss breaks, Lance and I sat and talked for hours in the same chairs, facing the same direction, a stationary fixture on the fluid scene surrounding us. The table next to us occupied by four different sets of people while we talked.

"I better go find a place to stay. Where you sleepin' tonight?

"There's a little Motel just down the road about a mile. Last I saw they still had their VACANCY sign on." He said.

"Brookwood Motel? Yeah, I stay there a lot - nice place. What room are ya in?" I asked.

Took him a few minutes to find which pocket he had put his key, but found it, fished it out, and told me, "29, next to the office."

"You gonna be all right?" I know - it was a dumb thing to say, but I was still numb and couldn't think of anything better. I decided then and there that the last thing Lance needed right now was somebody pampering him. He accepted the shit that'd been dumped on him, I was determined to make it as real as I could make it for him.

I asked Tom to put the beers on a tab, and told him I'd be back in an hour, and to keep an eye on Lance for me. Within minutes I was riding down the old beach road towards the Brookwood Motel, thinking how shitty this day had ended up. I had also begun thinking about how I really envied Lances determination to take the ultimate Road Trip before it was too late.

And how was I gonna find a way to join the ride?

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