Sometimes the biggest characters come along only a few times in one’s life. Ernesto was one of those people. We were riding buddies for close to 10 years. Life changes, people’s journeys morph; yet we still keep in touch. The first time I met Ernesto was on the road with my other buddy Rupert and it was 1995. We were all on a cross-country motorcycle trek and camping along the way.
We saw him when we pulled into the National Forest campground in northern NM. This was my second time to the “Land of Enchantment”; later I would learn this was part of the ‘Enchanted Circle’, famous in NM among bikers. He had a relatively new BMW K100/K1100 GT bike (something) with a full fairing and saddle bags. It was filthy though, one of the dirtiest bikes I had ever seen. Mud and trash plus the usual road grime was all over it. I think it might have stunk too.
Rupert and I quickly set up camp, we had a rhythm going after numerous cross-country treks together. We could partially see where the BMW rider was camping, but we heard it a hell of a lot more than what we saw. The gentleman was cussing under his breath, yet in the woods you could hear it, or most of it.
Rupert and I both walked over to his site area, and noticed a huge upper middle aged man untangling what seemed to be his poles for his tent. He was wearing a one piece leather suit that looked expensive, the top half of which he has stripped down to his waist. It lay like a curtain of leather in front of him. He was at least 6’6’ probably more, but shoulders were big, he was very big. He was on his knees tangled up in the tent, with the poles strung about, half assembled, and he had one pole in his hand, looking frustrated. Rupert in his exaggerated gentile southern way said, said “how-r-ya”? The big man looked up, and said, “I have never set one up before!”.
I replied, “shshshshshshsh, don’t say that too loud out here! We’ll give you a hand”.
“Ernesto, my name is Ernesto.”
“I am Rupert and this is Luke.”
We shook hands. Rupert and I quickly figured out the dome tent with 3 poles and showed Ernesto the technique. We chit-chatted and had determined that Ernesto was an NYU Professor in Electrical Engineering, as with most people what they do defines them in many ways, so this information is usually one of the first things you learn about people while traveling. He truly had NEVER, EVER put up a tent in his life. We both were literally amazed at this, but given Ernesto lived in Ozone Park in NY City his whole life – it did seem possible.
I asked him, "NY City is about 3000 miles from here, is this the first night you ever been camping as well?”
“Yes, I rode until Memphis, TN the first day, like 1600 miles, got a hotel and hit it the next morning and here I am.” He also explained that he actually stopped at the camping store and bought all of his camping equipment on the way out of NYC to start this trip! After he mentioned that I noticed the sales tag still on his sleeping bag! That takes balls, I thought - never camped, been an urban dweller your whole life, buy a tent – ride a motorcycle 3000 or more miles into real wilderness you have never seen, and camp. Yeah, I liked this guy!
Rupert, Ernesto and I traveled together throughout Montana, Wyoming and Idaho for the next 2 weeks. Ernesto was smart, a seasoned rider, fearless (a little too fearless at times - future stories forthcoming), and full of life.
The next summer all 3 of us rendezvoused at my place in North Georgia and went on a 4 week bike trip to the SW and others areas west of NM. The idea was to get out there fast, then take our time around the area and do 200 mile days and check it out. So we were riding 1100-1200 mile days out to the SW. 3 days from North Georgia to Moab, Utah and Arches National Park. This was because, I had to return to work in 4 weeks. I had managed to finagle 4 consecutive weeks out of my employer. Not easy at this stage of my life.
While we were driving through Arkansas on I-40 about 100 miles outside of Memphis heading west. We decided to break the monotony of Interstate riding and there was very little traffic. We decided to “kick It” collectively and hit speeds of 120-130 MPH sometimes more for the next 100 miles. This took about 30 minutes. All was good, until – well… in the middle of fields of beans and corn – was the local constable! We got pulled over one at a time. The Sheriff and his deputies picked us off systematically from the rear to the front. They were waiting on a down ramp from a small overpass in the middle of fields. All 3 of them. As we drove by they got us.
They were local sheriffs and had those cowboy shaped hats that were dark colored straw (the ones that are all hard and pre-formed). The cop who pulled me over, strolled out of his patrol car and said, “What kinda motor-cicllllll is thhheeeaattttttt…. Sure does go faaasssssstt”! He had a twangy kind of voice, like out of a bad western mimicking an old Oklahoma accent.
I said, “it is a Honda ST1100.”
“Wellll we got you and your friends on radar. You were going 132 MPH by... the wayyy. Do you know what the speeeed limit is hearrrr?”
Trying to minimize the pain, I said, “80?”
“No.... it is 70 heeearrrrr. But we are going to give you threeee a break and write the ticket for 100 MPH in a 70 becaussse anythinnnggg higher than that we would havvv to lock you up. It’s called RECKLESS DRIVING in the state of Arrrkkkansaaaas.”
Feeling blessed with a ticket and just a fine, I said thank you and drove off. We all met up about 15 miles down the road at a small farming town with the first exit - at the one gas station. This is always the plan to check-in in case we get separated, hit the next exit with gas and first gas station - and wait. We had all agreed to this. Rupert and I said we were relieved, but Ernesto was very upset. He went on and on about how he was going to fight the ticket and claim that he didn’t know us by telling this to the judge, that the police’s radar had only got one of the bikes ahead of him, and his bike was not going that fast. He was doing the sped limit, after all!!! In fact, Ernesto most of the 30 minutes had been leading and was hitting speeds of 135, yet when we got our citations he had just slowed down and had assumed to the last position!
We completed that trip and split up in Nevada. Ernesto continued off towards Seattle and British Columbia. He had another 5 weeks before he had to be back in NYC and NYU. Rupert and I headed back to Georgia, and said good bye.
Later that summer towards the end of August, I got an ugly black and white post card with the name "ARKANSAS" picture on the front - post marked Arkansas. Written on the back was:
“Thanks for rescuing me from the killer tent in NM. Wanted you both to know I left Calgary and headed back to Arkansas and told my story. Took me 5 days, but I was riding! The cop was amazed I showed up and remembered me! The judge agreed and threw out the ticket! One of you guys could have gotten off, they admitted they only had a radar lock on one bike!”
Your friend, Ernesto.”