As I merged onto the 101 I worked my way over to the HOV lane. Eventually all the traffic cleared, so I shifted the Road King into 6th gear and hit the throttle hard. The ol’ girl took off like a banshee and when I looked down at my speedometer I was pushing 95 mph. I remember thinking “no need to hurry” as I coasted to a more reasonable speed. I didn’t have anywhere to be for the next two days.
Three days earlier I sat in a booth at Zach’s Bar and Grill in Peru. An ice storm had hit Southeast Nebraska. I had quit my job the previous Monday and I had a week off before I started my new gig. Maybe it was weather. Or maybe it was the freedom of no responsibilities. Or maybe it was the Busch Light. Regardless of the cause I called Buddy Stubbs Harley Davidson in Phoenix, AZ and reserved a motorcycle. Booked a flight. And was set for an adventure.
I caught the 6 am flight out of Omaha on Tuesday. Landed in Phoenix at 9:30 a.m. and took an Uber to the Harley dealership. After a quick lap around the parking lot to prove I could ride I found myself heading east on Highway 60. The last time I was in this country my dad I were chasing mountain lions. It’s funny how I always find my way back to the places I love.
Eventually I took Highway 70 across the San Carlos Apache Indian Reservation. I couldn’t help but think about Geronimo and how badass he was. He was an Apache that stood up for what he believed.
Two hundred miles after leaving Phoenix I pulled into a bar in Safford, AZ.
The bartender asked “what’ll have?”
“Burger and a coke” I replied.
“Grill doesn’t open until five and all I have is Pepsi. How about a chuck wagon and a beer?” was her response.
“That’ll work” I replied.
The bar was empty other than a rancher sitting to my right. He broke the silence first by asking “where did you wrestle?”
“Chadron State in Nebraska. Did the ears give it away?”
This was the start of a 30 minute conversation about wrestling. Turns out he used to coach a high school wrestling team in AZ and I actually wrestled against his team on a wrestling trip back in 2000. We knew a lot of the same people and swapped old glory day stories until he finally asked “Where you headed?”
“Bisbee” I answered.
“Shit son, you better skin out if you want to make it by dark.”
We shook hands and parted ways. I’m always amazed of how small the world actually is.
100 miles later I passed through Tombstone as the sun was setting in the west. I pulled into Bisbee right at dark and backed my Harley in front of St. Elmo’s bar, the oldest bar in AZ.
The bar tender was friendly and it was a lively place for a Tuesday night. The crowd was a blend of redneck locals and liberal transplants that opened art galleries in this old mining town. It wasn’t long and I realized that this southern Arizona town was supposed to get 2 to 3 inches of snow in the morning. I didn’t believe it. I flew to Arizona to ride in sunshine, but there wasn’t much I could do about it so I enjoyed my night.
Water hitting the old tin roof of Copper Queen Inn is what woke me in the morning. Looking out the window I realized I was in quite a predicament. It was snowing outside and I needed to return the Road King at 5:30. I had my leather coat, but I wasn’t prepared to ride through snow and 30 degree weather. My biggest concern was getting my jeans and feet wet.
Around 10:00 am I spoke to a couple that thought the storm would pass by 2:00 pm. Discouraged by the news I went for a walk about town. I entered an antique store merely to pass the time. As fate would have it they had a pair of leather motorcycle chaps for sell. I couldn’t tell which way I was supposed to read the tag. Was it a W for Womens or M for Mens? Truthfully, I didn’t care. They fit and would keep my legs and feet dry.
When I checked out of the hotel the receptionist asked if it was my motorcycle parked out front. I indicated it was and she simply replied “keep it shiny side up, its slick out.”
As I road north it was still snowing but the roads weren’t too bad. I approached Tombstone and saw a storm rolling in from the West. I’ll never forget the clouds and how fast they moved in. It wasn’t long and I found myself in ridding in strong winds and little ice pellets. I could barely see the road, but noticed a sign that read “4 miles to Tombstone.” I pushed forward.
Tombstone is pretty much a tourist trap. I parked the Road King and headed to Kate’s Place. I figured this was as good of place as any to sit out the storm.
I found myself bitching to the bartender about the weather.
She simply smiled and said “the sun's going to shine tomorrow.”
The weather finally cleared and I hauled ass back to Phoenix. I pulled into Buddy Stubbs Harley Davidson at 5:26. I had rode over 600 miles and was grinning from ear to ear.
How Does This Apply to Business
I don’t believe in good byes. I believe in “until next time.” I don’t know what the odds are that I would run into a wrestling coach that I competed against 18 years ago, but I know that the world is smaller than you think. I recently left a company that I worked for nine and a half years. I’ll miss all the great people I worked with. But I’m not going away, I’m just going someplace new. I know all of our paths will cross again.
It’s never about the product. When I came across those chaps in an antique store, I didn’t care how much they cost. I didn’t care if they were women’s. All I cared about was they fit and they were going to keep me warm and dry. Often bad sales people blame their lack of success on the product. This is just an excuse. If you focus on solving problems instead of selling products, you will be successful.
The sun's going to shine tomorrow. I’ll never forget those words. No matter how bad things get at work, at home, or anywhere…just remember “The sun's going to shine tomorrow.”
Until next time remember…you’re going to have to earn it.