Nope, it’s not my breakdown story, and it’s not Gresh’s, either. This one comes to us as a guest blog from good buddy Bob O, whom you may remember from his earlier blog about a custom handgun by TJ, another good buddy. I’ll give you the link for that blog later.
Bob was a motorcycle messenger in an earlier life, and this story comes to us from those halcyon days of yesteryear.
Over to you, Bob!
It was some years ago, about 1983 or as kids today would call it, the ancient time before the common use of the Internet or social media. I was working as a motorcycle messenger here in Los Angeles. It was an interesting way to make a living. I had started out as an in-house delivery rider for a travel agency and then moved up to messenger services. We were based in Century City in West L.A. on the land that had been 20th Century’s Film Corp’s back lot back before the movie industry shrank due to television. I used to run all day long on the bike (typically about 200 to 250 miles a day). Pick up three messages in Beverly Hills going downtown, pick up one downtown going back to the west side, etc., etc., all day long.
Motorcycles are great for this kind of work in dense LA traffic. Lane splitting is legal in California and that in conjunction with ease of parking made bikes a lot more efficient than cars in both time and cost. I was running a Suzuki GN 400, a forgotten little 400cc single-cylinder street bike that they made for about 3 years. It was left over from the prior year’s production and they were being sold off at a bargain basement price. As I recall I paid $1123 for it brand spanking new. It wasn’t fast and it wasn’t flashy but it was fast enough for messenger work and was about as reliable as an anvil or the sun. And it just sipped fuel. All in all it could have used a little more uumph power wise but it got the job done.
I lived in the Southbay area of LA which is in the southwest part of the county and the office was in West LA. If the dispatchers could they would try to get me a south run to help pay my way home at the end of the day. This particular day I was in the office at about 4:30 that afternoon and the day was still frantic but winding down. My dispatcher called my name and told me he had an Orange County for me which was a good one money wise and also because it was southbound. The pick up was in Westwood going to Stanton in Orange County.
I took the dispatch ticket and went downstairs to my bike and off to Westwood I went with a big smile on my face. Got the pick up in Westwood and headed south on the notorious 405 freeway lane splitting merrily on my way through bumper to bumper rush hour traffic. I got to Artesia Boulevard in Torrance and doglegged across the Southbay to pick up the 91 freeway going to Orange County which is a distance of about 5 or so miles on the surface streets.
I was just getting on the 91 when suddenly my rear end started swinging wildly back and forth – Ugh!!!! Damn!!! I blew a rear tire!! I made my way to the shoulder of the freeway and walked about a hundred feet to a freeway call box. Nobody in those days had cell phones then except rich people and they were the size of a brick so all we had were beepers duct taped to our back pack straps. I got on the phone with the Highway Patrol operator and was trying to get a driver to come and pick up the delivery I had as it had to be there. This was somewhat difficult as the office had closed and we were trying to arrange all this through relays of calls to a nighttime relief driver.
As I was waiting for the operator to come back on the line I heard a horn honking repeatedly. I looked down at the freeway onramp just below me and for some reason there was a guy in a white bobtail truck honking and waving at me. I ignored this friendly gesture as I was in the middle of a minor crisis and also had no idea who the hell it was and was still waiting for the Highway Patrol operator on the call box to come back on the line.
Much to my surprise, the truck did not continue onto the freeway but edged over onto the shoulder where my bike was and started backing up. Well, this required a bit of investigation as it obviously was more than just a friendly hello from someone just passing by, so I put down the call box phone and ran over to the bike while the bobtail reversed to about 20 feet away from the bike. I approached the cab of the truck and miracle of miracles it was a friend of mine who just happened to be getting on the freeway who looked over, recognized me, and stopped. “Hey didn’t you see me waving at you”? Um,…..well yeah but didn’t know it was you”. “So what happened”? “I blew a rear tire” “Hey, no problem, lets put it on the lift gate and I’ll get you home.”
Well, we did just that. Up into the bobtail the Suzuki went, it got tied down, and my bud took me to the stop in Stanton to drop the package and then dropped me off right in my driveway in Redondo Beach. As he drove away I was kind of thinking to myself “did that really just happen or am I dreaming?” Well, it did happen. Sometimes you just get lucky. Real lucky.
That’s a great story, Bob. Thanks for sharing it with us. Ride safe and keep your powder dry.
As promised, here’s the link to Bob’s other post.
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