Renata

An angel, a prayer, and lots of charm.

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I met Renata in the street in Santa Cruz the week before I left. She had been standing in the middle of the road looking at the Ural, which was parked in front of my favorite cafe. I looked up from my maps as a car slowed down and maneuvered around her.

"Hey, you're going to get hit," I yelled, but she didn't notice me until I walked between her and the bike. This girl was in a daze.

She started talking, and we soon discovered that we were leaving on solo motorcycle journeys on the same day. She was actually on her way to buy the bike that would transport her as far as Alaska, the first leg of an around-the-world trip. She was late, but we talked frantically for fifteen minutes, exchanged phone numbers, and walked reluctantly in different directions. I wondered if she'd get the bike, and if she'd really go through with the trip. We talked about riding together as far as Portland where I'd visit my sister who'd just moved there.

But traveling in the U.S. can be an experience of false starts. There is no ticket to buy when you're leaving from home on your own vehicle, and sometimes trips get delayed. Sometimes they get delayed for years.

A few days before our departure Renata called to say she would be leaving a few days later. I declined to wait. I am used to traveling companions backing out for lack of funds, family obligations, last-minute jitters. I didn't think of her again until I reached Portland when my sister gave me a message. Renata would arrive the following day. She arrived hot and irritated. The coast had been foggy and cool but crossing over the mountains she was hit with a continuous blast of hot air. Her face was flushed and her long brown hair was limp.

She took off her helmet and shouted at me, "Somebody took a picture of me today. I'm such a novelty, I almost feel like a freak!"

I'd forgotten about that. People stare at me while I'm riding all the time, but it's been a while since I've been bugged by it. It's the constant comments and questions when I stop for gas, groceries, and to camp that sometimes irritate me. The comments, even when positive, are reminders of difference, that I'm little "off" maybe. Or considered "brave." The fact that I'm traveling long distances alone is apparent by the packs and the out-of-state license plates, and the obvious absence of a group or some big dangerous-looking biker boyfriend. I can ignore it most of the time. But it's all new to her.

"What a bike, though," I said, hoping to redirect her focus.

It worked. "Yeah," she said, turning to the bike. Her voice became slow and dreamy, "can't you tell it's the dream machine?" The transformation in her attitude was striking. She turned to me. Her smile was brilliant.

The dream machine was a bright magenta BMW GSL 100, just a few years old and beautifully maintained. She'd convinced the previous owner to sell it to her, even though the bike hadn't been for sale.

She carefully pulled it onto the center stand as my sister came out with cold beer and her four kids, who buzzed around Renata and the bike. Inside the house we settled down to a spagetti dinner and talk about our trips.

"So what does your boyfriend think about all this?" asked my brother-in-law.

"Oh, he's fine with it; with the trip, the bike, everything." And then she sighed. "I'm missing him already, but hey, this is new for me. If I can go off and be my own person and travel and have a motorcycle, and he's not going to be shocked or disapprove, that puts a whole new spin on relationships for me.

"His friends think he's nuts," she continued. "They ask him, 'why do you let her go?', and he says 'let her?' and just laughs."

That night Renata and I settled into the basement with our sleeping bags and travel gear.

She told me about buying the bike, her discoveries about travel and motorcycles and her reactions to people's perceptions. I was familiar with most but had never had a woman friend to talk about them with. And she had a new phrase I hadn't heard.

"Sit WHAT!?" I had never heard that term, either.

"Now, I'm not offended by profanity but I am offended by the perception," she continued. "I called him on it and he was a little embarrassed but still, he asked, 'Well, what are you going to call it?'"

"I said 'PASSENGER, maybe?'... I think we have a good marker when knowing when women are accepted, when that kind of language isn't used any more," Renata remarked. "Language is like that... it reflects people's underlying beliefs."

Everything about motorcycling and touring is new to her. The freedom of two wheels, the speed, the curves, the staring, the sexism, the fear. I realized as she talked about it, so surprised, that I ignore or gloss over the aspects of it that bother me, and that, having ridden since I was 14, I sometimes even take the positives for granted.

She'd been riding a total of six weeks. I told her I thought it was pretty ambitious of her to take a trip like this after only that much experience. She had a good point about the practice.

"I decided to think of it as a series of day trips," she told me. "I could have stayed home and practiced riding around Santa Cruz, going 100 miles in one direction and coming home again. It's the same thing, whether you're at home or on the way to far away."

The next morning we woke up late and went out to look at our bikes, check the oil and tires, and just to show them off. I showed her my Russian tire pressure gauge, and then Renata pointed out what she really liked about her bike.

"One of the things I really like is this yellow shock. Now, guys get off on it because it's an Olin shock." She caressed the shock with a Vanna White hand gesture and joked, "I like it because it's bright yellow, and I think it makes a great accessory."

We laughed. She straddled the seat while she talked. It's a tall bike, and though I'm taller than her I prefer the stability of a lower profile. But she'd never ridden anything else, and seemed comfortable... more than comfortable... on it.

"I got the bike home and it sat in my garage for three days because I didn't know how to ride it. All I could do was go out and look at it." She laid down on the tank and hugged it.

In the map holder of the tank bag was her Map Angel, a photograph of a woman wearing wings and a dress made of paper maps.

"I've had this photo for 5 years, and I've always loved it. She's my alter ego. I've kept her all this time and now she's in my tank bag. I also have a good luck crystal from my friend, and so many other special things you can touch and feel that are going with me."

She also has a mercury dime charm bracelet and a charm necklace, both gifts from close friends. A musical friend even wrote a song for her. "I've got all the people in my life really behind me with this incredible support, and I feel really lucky."

But I was concerned about her having all those talismans. They seemed to me to admit that there is something out there to ward off. This is our difference. I ward off danger by saying to myself that people are basically nice, that I'm competent to ride and fix my machine, that natural disasters are rare. It works, I think, because people are reluctant to be mean to someone who wants things to work out well. I also keep my eyes open, and avoid potentially bad situations even if it's a lot of trouble.

Renata's work has been in the social services. She has often worked with abused children, which has brought her face-to-face with all that is bad in humans. And as for the machine, she's learning about it but doesn't know how to fix it. She chose a reliable machine for that reason. As for the other fears -- she takes along talismans.

"The fear came as a surprise. Whenever I thought about doing this trip I NEVER imagined myself being afraid. Then as the whole trip started coming together I found myself awake at night really scared. I asked myself 'What the hell am I doing? Who do I think I am to pull off a stunt like this?' I was gripped by fear to the point that if I hadn't had the support from my family and friends, and a strong desire to do the trip, it would have stopped me."

"But I've worked out what fear means. It means False Evidence Appearing Real. Get it? FEAR. But then I've thought about it a lot and I also came up with the acronym REAR. That stands for Real Evidence Appearing Real. I think a lot of the fears about doing this are with good reason. Motorcycles are dangerous. Traveling alone as a woman is dangerous. I'm doing things to keep myself safe: I don't go really fast, red line the bike for instance.

"Everything about this trip has come together," said Renata. "The day I met you in Santa Cruz I was on my way to buy the bike. I'd put an ad in the paper to buy this particular kind of bike, because there were none for sale. And a guy called. He didn't want to sell it, just called out of curiosity to see how much I'd pay. He said no, and kept saying no, but I'd already said to myself 'I'm going to put the energy out there and see what comes back.'"

I smiled to myself. I'd never seen anyone so attached to a motorcycle. I have a certain fondness for the Ural, but I'm not as attached to it as to my first bike.

"Well, look what came back," she continued. "It was absolutely meant to be. This guy was being guided by the energy that I put out. He kept saying 'I don't even WANT to sell it' and I kept saying 'I know you don't, but it's MY bike.'" Her smile was radiant. "And look what I've got.

"The day I went to buy the bike there was this Russian Ural and you. Part of my trip around the world will be through Russia, and you were leaving the same day. When you do what you really want to do, the universe cooperates.

"Following instincts is what this trip is about. For a long time I've made decisions based on what others expect. I'm a free spirit but sometimes I get sidetracked and a lot of what this trip is about is following my intuition. That's the reason I don't have a strict itinerary. I have Alaska, then I'll have to ship the bike home so I can continue to through Russia, then Beijing in August for the United Nations International Women's Conference, and finally Germany to meet up with my sweetheart. And those are only a few destinations... with a whole lot of land in between."

I asked her if she had any plans for future trips.

"I think I might not have to do a trip like this again of such magnitude. I don't think a person needs more than one vision quest in their life. This trip is about curiosity and other places, and I love being on the road. Once I get to a destination, I long to move again. I love the road. I know that won't go away."

"Yeah," I told her. "You'll become addicted, and do it again and again. I can tell."

But she doesn't know that yet, but I could tell she already was, after only a few days.

The next morning Renata left for Alaska. I watched as she stopped at the end of my sister's driveway, looked both ways, waved, and rode away. I know what knots and doubts were going on inside of her, and I hoped that when she glanced down at her map angel standing tall in her dress of paper. Her dark hair blowing in a gentle wind, and her gaze taking her as far away as she wants to be. Perhaps she really is watching over Renata during her trip. If so, I wanted a map angel, too. But then, maybe I've had one all along.

Index | Dispatch 7