After #Sac2Bay rollout from Arden Fair, I decided to fly solo and log in some zen miles. I headed south on I-5 and stopped at a place I have passed many, many times before, Vista Point. It’s about an hour south of Sacramento. In arbitrarily random moments, strangers became friends, stories were swapped, karma was strengthened.
I met Fernando, a truck driver resting his legs, who couldn’t help but notice my motorcycle while I was taking shots of the vista. He asked a few curious questions. Sure, I let him straddle the seat and get a feel of a cruiser. I think it was an inspiring moment. I could tell he was trying to figure out how to convince his wife. He told me his story about how the couple came to America from Brazil years ago, the job and house thing didn’t quite work out at first, but they hustled and kept at their grind, until he got to a point when he decided to bet the farm and own his own rig. That shiny yellow Peterbilt is his American Dream. It felt awesome to sit in the driver’s seat, seeing his future through the windshield, his past in his rearview mirrors.
As if that wasn’t enough of a story for one trip, after Fernando rolled on to his next destination, a herd of bikes roared up, and I got to introduce myself to fellow riders, who turned out to be from all over the country. All were military, soldiers and vets. Each one started out in a different state, and over the miles, joined up after meeting and formed this little posse. I was broken hearted to not be able to join such a cool pack of brothers. We posed for selfies for each of our cameras, then they caravanned onward north, towards Oregon. They left me with a raging sense of wanderlust.