It’s 2:30 a.m., the best time and temperature to run in a new motor. There’s no traffic, but being Las Vegas, there are lots of flashing colored lights. What a sight, but—oops—I cross an intersection and am pulled up by a police car, the officer claiming that I went through a red light.
First question: “Where are you from?”
“New Zealand,” I reply.
“Don’t they have traffic lights down there?”
“No,” I reply.
A brief chat and then it’s, “On yer way.”
I go. I have to cross Death Valley and the Mojave Desert to reach the Pacific Coast Ranges, then Los Angeles. I do it while the temperature is cool, and my new engine bits get gently run in.
In Los Angeles I go straight to the bank and pick up my $300 dollars, and then to the Airport Immigration Office, to get my passport and bike papers stamped so I won’t have any problems exiting and re-entering the United States from Canada later on.
The first question they ask is, “How did you get into the United States?”
A bit of checking goes on, and after some delay, all is okay. “On yer way.”
One of the Pease Corps workers in Peru asked me to look him up. He’s back in Peru, but his parents insist I stay the night. Thank you, Bill Shraner’s family.
In the big city I get a good run-around tour, what with the bank, the Airport Immigration Office, the British Embassy for mail, and Sherwood Oaks in Hollywood to visit the Shraners.