That Time I Unexpectedly Saw the London Bridge
When traveling, most of the time I don’t have a route mapped out. Depending on how I am traveling, like flying and renting, or riding from home, the shape of my trip may vary in definition and required structure. Leaving and arriving back to your own garage has a lot more flexibility than having to make it to a rental station by 5pm on a specific day.
But, even with those known bookends, what happens in the middle can vary greatly. That middle piece is where I float. And in that floating is where the unexpected juicy stuff happens.
The evening before, I’d had an early dinner at Chiriaco Summit and found a place to stay for the night. With nothing really planned for the day, I set off east and north through the town of Rice, past a live sex show, over a dam, and wound up chasing the last remaining daylight towards Lake Havasu City, Arizona.
Why did I know that name, Lake Havasu? Riiiiiiight…. home of the London Bridge, of course.
Now, its not a really awe inspiring sight as far as bridges go. But, like anything else, you might not know the impact a place or a thing will have on you until you experience it first hand. I will confess, the impact on me was minimal.
The end of each riding day appears much the same way. My trusty bag sits and waits. Night after night it gets packed and unpacked like a game of Tetris. Over time you learn how little you need, and even in that small footprint, some items go unused.
On this night in Lake Havasu, my shower had a single tile adorned with a Dennis the Menace-like little boy who reminded me very much of someone.
Good night, blondie.