Short List

Continued from ‘Easy Rider’

The plan was vague, but the ingredients were all there; motorcycles, asian-chicks, questionable meats.  I had no solid plan of attack, little bankroll, and no wingman (or wing-woman, I’m an equal opportunity adventurer and as far as I know menstrual cycles don’t have the same effect on tigers as it does bears).

A quick calculation of distances relative to sights and points of interest showed that this would not be a quick jaunt. To do it right would take weeks if not months. This realization hammered home the fact that in order to do this as I envisioned I would most likely have to leave my job.

In truth I had been preparing for this eventuality from my first day at FSU.  I began in my first position at Florida State University Libraries with the thought that it would be a way to save some bucks whilst planning the next adventure.  But something surprising happened that I had not anticipated. I loved it. I enjoyed the work tremendously and the people I worked with even more (C.A.T 4 life yo).  Apparently my newfound enthusiasm did not go unnoticed and just as I was preparing to tender my resignation in preparation for a half cocked idea to teach English in China I was offered a promotion.  It was the toughest decision of my life to shelve yet another travel plan (and a relationship with a great girl), but I felt at the time it was the right one, and still do.

Time moved quickly as it often does and before I knew it I was accepting my 5 year employee award at the tender age of 27. This was supposed to be the year of rock and roll death, not the year of library stats and conferences. The choice to me was clear, stay and make a career of this, or make a break and set out for the unknown.  I invariably would chose the one with less statistics work.

The weight was still falling off (at the rate of half a Backstreet Boy a month), the bank account was swelling nicely, and the travel plan was becoming more pieced together every day.  It was almost ready for public consumption amongst the few I considered stalwart enough to engage in such lunacy.

Now I carry a tight knit group of friends.  People I would gladly step in front of bullets for, especially if I could angle it to the fleshy part of a buttock, Gump-style.  Yet however adventurous they may be, this was an order of magnitude greater than anything we’d attempted before.  Combine that with the logistics involved; copious time off, and a bankroll to fund a month’s worth of shenanigans.  Needless to say the pool was understandably small.

On top of the complex logistics, simply finding a traveling partner that won’t leave you crouching over their hostel bed in the night, smothering-pillow in hand, is no easy task.  People who get along swimmingly in muggle-life will often be at each others throats when the things go wrong on a deserted stretch of the Ho Chi Minh Highway.  I can’t explain the dynamic any more than I can explain my need to pet large dangerous animals (because they’re there).

I consulted in my mind a list of possible candidates.  It was a depressing moment. Those who had the time didn’t have the means, and those with the means were often beginning careers in which asking off for a month would have been professional suicide.

I began to resign myself to the thought of riding solo.  While the idea of being free to go and do as I pleased without fear of impinging on anyone else’s schedule or interests was appealing, the last line of Chris McCandless’ journal rang too loud in my thoughts.  Happiness is only real if it’s shared.

I entertained politely the offers of ‘next year bro, I’ll totally be able to go next year’.  Maybe they were sincere, but I had neither the time nor the inclination to wait.  Work was ramping up to an extent that if I didn’t make the break soon I’d be sucked into the building of a new library, a project that while interesting was sure to make me an old man before my time.  No, it had to be soon or the complexities of life, women, and my increasing self doubt, threatened to undercut the momentum I had worked so hard to build.

‘A darkness washed over the dude.  Darker than a black steer’s tuchas on a moonless prairie night.’ -The Stranger

It was here at this low point that two things came to pass that would swing the elements of fate back into my favor.

1.  Top Gear, the hilariously irreverent BBC ‘car-show’ filmed a fantastic special on Vietnam.  Riding bikes, mopeds, and Soviet Minsks, the trio of presenters painted a vividly alluring picture of life on the road.  Like manna from heaven, it was as if the Beeb was printing promotional material just for me.

2.  I came across a crusty old piece of paper in a shoe-box. A document signed and sealed over seven years past.  A legally binding agreement between two old friends on a nearly forgotten gamble.  Yet in the context of my present situation I saw it for what it was, leverage.

Some friendships are born out of mutual interest. Some out of a shared adversity or hardship (war, the FSU dorms).  Some are simply fated out of sheer physical proximity.  My relationship with Evan Isami Miyamoto would come from the latter.

Next-door neighbors from childhood, I counted him as my oldest friend going on 17 years.  Our paths and personalities had from the start been polar opposites, but a mutual respect and admiration had grown up around video games and sleepovers.  He was my Asian brother-from-another-mother, and was family as far as I was concerned (even if his slanty eyes did make my adorably racist grandmother sleepy).

I had chosen academia (if that’s what you want to call keeping hobo’s from batin’ in the library, and I prefer to).  Evan had chosen law enforcement. It fit with his sometimes ridged demeanor and unflinching sense of right, wrong, and justice.  He was principled and ethical in ways I couldn’t fathom, yet still great fun over a beer or a card game. A juxtaposition I’ve always very much appreciated. More importantly, I had paper on his ass.

As stubborn as they come, we had often gambled on the most important of life’s events. The intention always being that his Japanese pride and mule-like tendencies would not allow for a single step backwards (this is after all a people who devised ‘sepukku’ rather than say ‘I’m sorry’).  We had wagered $5 on his placing first in his class at police academy and he had come through in Gutenburgian style.  The bill I happily framed still sits on his desk.  So in the Summer of 2005, when this near lifetime smoker claimed to be quitting cold turkey, I saw an opportunity.  A devious wager akin to the ‘Serbian Jew Double-Bluff’.

No more paltry $5 bets, this was serious. He was going federal and the stakes had to be upped substantially.  No cigarettes for five years (provisions were made for hand rolled cigars of which we were both fans).  The penalty for a single drag?  Airfare and accommodation to a foreign locale.  Should he abstain, then I would be footing the substantial bill.

Now I’m not generally one to gamble with the intention of losing. If I’m putting money on the table, I feel I have an edge, either real or perceived.  Only one other time do I recall a sizable wager I intended to lose. Taking a high school football team against FSU in the season opener.  And that was only to get a buddy out of the deepest hole I’ve ever seen anyone dig themselves in a home dice game (shear a sheep many times, butcher it only once, right Johnny?).  But this was a win-win scenario if there ever was one.

If he quit cold turkey, which I had all confidence he possessed the willpower to do, then not only was my friend healthier for it, but I had a built-in travel partner for a future adventure. I may have to sell a kidney, but at the time it seemed a paltry organ in comparison to the pay off.

Imagine my surprise when not three months later I received a concession call admitting defeat and attempting to negotiate terms.  As I suspected would be the case, booze was inevitably involved. God bless the synapse that relates alcohol to tobacco, it had just paid me off big time.  Since I was still in school, and he was off learning the proper way to kick in doors (reverse kick), we both agreed to discuss the payment at a date more financially suitable to both of us. To his immense credit he didn’t whine or weasel and made the concession call after his first puff.  A true man of honor.  I’ve seen a lot worse behavior over far less costly bets.  I simply logged the agreement away next to my Incredible Hulk #181 (first appearance of ‘The Wolverine’ AKA my 401k) and my other ‘important’ papers and promptly forgot about it…for seven years.

January 2012 – ‘Ev, it’s Nick. I’ve got an idea. Let me know what you think…’