The day was hot, dry, and sunny. As I role west on the I-10, bound for Los Angeles and into the sun on the Harley, the pavement seemed to shiver as the heat came off the surface. There was a slight cooling effect created by the wind created as I cranked the throttle. The choice of being buffeted about at speed was an easy one.
As I passed through Fontana, the traffic began to slow. Increasingly there were clumps of slow cars followed by a space. As the spaces between began to diminish, my senses were on high alert for whatever might be happening.
Mid Ontario, traffic ground to a stop. Not one car or truck was moving. Given the legality of riding between lanes, I continued to cruise cautiously through the lines of semi-parked cars and trucks. The gaps between the vehicles continued to diminish until it seemed like I was weaving through a New York parking garage.
The mile of parked cards was an exposure to California’s preference. Imports dominated. Colors were more popular than the traditional black and white. Small or large extremes outnumbered everything other alternative. It quickly dawned on me that I was alone. I had passed two miles of cars without sighting any motorcycles!
The flashing lights marked the front of the line. Six lanes of cars stopped along the same invisible mark. A police car driving figure eights held everyone in place. As I edged up to the front, I was alone. 5,000 cars. 1 Harley.
An odd quote flashed in my mind. “When I arrived here the other day, I was fascinated with all the shrines I came across. And then I found one inscribed, to the god nobody knows. I’m here to introduce you to this God so you can worship intelligently, know who you’re dealing with.” (Acts 17.23)
The police megaphone boomed loud enough for every car to hear, “you, on the motorcycle, you are free to proceed”. I looked for the one. Then I heard it again. “You, the only one on the motorcycle, proceed”.
