Much like Gilligan’s three-hour tour, my trip to pick up my husband Gary’s 2000 Bandit 1200 was nothing short of an endless adventure. While he was recovering from a broken wrist from a nasty fall on his trusty V-Strom I was assigned the task of traveling to the city of angels, Los Angeles, to pick up his new bike and ride it home.

A one-way ticket to Orange County began the trip and demanded at least a couple of days spent in Disneyland and California Adventure, riding all the new rides I have heard so much about. The visit did not disappoint. Arriving on a Thursday was perfect, not too many people in either park, or any horribly long queues. My favorite rides were between Indiana Jones Adventure and Rockin’ Space Mountain… both are fast and wild, a motorcyclist’s dream. I also enjoyed Soaring over California, a flight simulation of hand gliding, and the river raft ride that had several full-blown splash-downs.

Saturday both parks were quite impossible, so instead of standing in lengthy queues, the Grand Californian Hotel offered some Irish coffees, all lined up with my name. No worries, I had a three-mile cab ride back to my hotel bed at the less than fancy Lemon Tree. Inexpensive, Spanish-styled and offering a lush and lovely garden, I was perfectly content with my room. Besides, earplugs can work wonders for a good night’s sleep.

Sunday morning promptly at 9:00am, Gareth, previous owner of the Bandit, came to gather me so that I could begin the next phase of my adventure. After seeing the bike and appreciating the fact that it was beautifully cared for and in tip top condition, I loaded as much of my “vacation gear” as would fit in the bike’s touring bags and stashed the remainder in the UPS box Gareth would use to send us extra parts (stock seat and muffler, etc.). Before my final departure Gareth was kind enough to install the Powerlet I brought along to support my Gerbings.

Bike fired up and purring, I set off on “Bandito’s” inaugural voyage and wound my way out of the LA area in sparse Sunday traffic. Gareth had mapped an efficient escape and I left just as the sky began sprinkling. But once I reached the Cajon Pass, high winds replaced the moisture, aiming to prove Disneyland hadn’t done such a stellar job of showing me a “true” thrill ride. The wind knew I didn’t have a seat belt or a safety bar to hold me in my seat and it showed no mercy.