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Even when Murphy comes to call, the Rising Sun can dispell the gloom.

I was stranded at a gas station in Tres Piedras, New Mexico after a regulator failure on my Ducati 748. Just to set the scene, TP (as it’s affectionately known to locals) is a crossroads in the middle of Bumfuck, Nowhere. There’s a crumbling gas station, a dilapidated restaurant and that’s about it. The nearest “town” is Taos which is about 50 miles away. With no tools to properly troubleshoot a dead electrical system, I assumed it was my battery that had died. After locating/calling a Honda dealer in Taos, who just happen to have the oddball size my euro-scoot required, I settled into that that semi-conscience trance brought about by the need to pass a couple uneventful hours in an alien and boring place. So with my partially stripped Italian (Ducati likes to put the battery behind the right side fairing) sitting over in the corner of the lot, the excruciatingly slow passage of time began.In my somnambulate state, the first impression I had of the approaching thumper was of an insect buzzing around my ear. Then as it grew in volume, I knew that was no bug, but a motorcycle. I caught site of the yellow machine out near the horizon. Within a few moments a yellow DRZ400 pulled up to the pumps. Ahh, someone to talk to who would understand my plight and offer a sympathetic ear, maybe even a helpful hand. When his helmet came off, a young man of distinctly Asian heritage appeared. The first words that came out of his mouth had such a thick accent that it was obvious he wasn’t from around here.

After exchanging some cursory greetings, I soon discovered that his lack of language skills would make this communication difficult. But I’ve never been one to shy away from a challenge, especially if it means leaving boredom behind. His pronunciation was so bizarre at times that I had to have him repeat many of his utterances multiple times. I tried not to speak loudly as many are prone to do when encountering an alien, believing that volume makes up for comprehension. (Just watch Nicky Hayden ask for con-di-shun-er from an Italian shopkeeper in The Kentucky Kid) I tried to use the most common and simple words I could muster to try to keep the conversation going. Fortunately, he was quite patient with me and I think he wanted to have a chat as much as I did. Being all alone on a deserted stretch of road will do that to you.

Through a lot of repetition and sign language, we were able to comprehend just enough to keep the conversation lively, even with an occasional joke thrown in for good measure. I told him about my predicament and how I had spent the last week riding all over the southwest looking for the holy grail of sportbikers, the vacant twisty road. I mentioned that I intended to cover a couple thousand miles when all was said and ridden. Then he told me how much he admired my spirit of adventure.

After further questioning, I came to understand he had flown to LA from Japan. Rented this barely street worthy machine, used a bungee net to strap down the bulk of his necessities and had set off to cross the entire United States by himself. He had planned finish somewhere in Florida where he would rendezvous with friends who were going to spend their week at DisneyWorld. I told him my sense of adventure couldn’t hold a candle to the journey he’d undertaken.

After a bit more small talk, we posed for this self-timer special (sorry about the quality). As it became apparent that he needed to be on his way and that I was stranded for the time being, we said our good-byes and in an effort to share a little Moto-Americana with him, I admonished him to “keep the rubber side down”! This brought a very puzzled look to his face. I knew my reference would need further clarification, so I explained that I was wishing him luck at keeping his machine upright and the tires on the road. After a few extra hand gestures, his widening eyes told me the light bulb had illuminated.

In an effort to help remember this new farewell, he repeated “key-a-lubba-sy-dow”. His cliché accent gave the words a completely different feel which made me laugh heartily and in turn brought a big toothy grin to his face. I was certain he would be the center of attention at the next gathering of his fellow two-wheeled comrades back in Nippon. I bowed in acknowledgement of what I considered a very sincere effort, as well as the pleasure of his company. His continuing repetition of the phrase indicated he was also delighted with his newfound American expression.

He donned his helmet, mounted his Suzuki, thumbed the starter and took off for his next adventure under foreign skies. Best of luck my intrepid acquaintance…………