My first trip to the U.S.

At some point before Christmas 1990, Colin and I had taken a trip to Berlin together, where we visited some distant East German relatives of mine. Ralf was a cousin fifteen times or so removed, he was our age, and we got along great. Unlike his older brother, he had no regrets and excitingly looked forward to a future in a free and democratic Germany, with plenty of opportunities and the sky being the limit. He and his lovely girlfriend Astrid showed us parts of Berlin, especially East Berlin, that normal tourists would never see. Ralf had started his mandatory military service just before unification in the East German army, and as of October 3rd, was now serving the rest of his national military service of 18 months in the unified German Army. The four of us immediately hit it off, and me talking about wanting to visit the U.S. at some point but not having a travel partner, we started to make plans for the following spring sometime in March or April to do exactly that.

When the time came to begin our three week vacation, the NATO gang had already returned to Sembach, and Ralf came down to stay with me awaiting our flight to Los Angeles to begin our adventure. We hung out on base (with Ralf being a member of the German military I was able to get him access to the base) and made some detailed plans for our trip. We would fly into LAX, rent a car, hang out for a few days and visit Disneyland, Universal Studios and other tourist sites, then drive North to Santa Maria, where Colin had instructed us to visit his home. 

After talking to his family numerous times during Desert Storm, both Margie and Kent, Colin's mom and dad, had invited me to stop by and meet the family once we're in the area. We ended up staying in Orcutt, to be precise, for a number of days, where Kent took us on a ride along in the Sheriff's cruiser. Colin's high school friends were thrilled to meet his German Air Force buddy. They were pretty much all stereotypical California punk types, constantly smoking weed, while playing punk music and just "hanging out". I began to understand that Colin's joining the Air Force a few years earlier must have been an attempt to escape that toxic environment, especially with a cop as a dad. Kent and Margie also took us to a place in the mountains called "Pozo Saloon", a pub and restaurant that exists to this day, and left a lasting memory of one of the best steaks I ever had in my life.

At one point Margie called Colin in Germany, and told him, she had made Philadelphia Cheesecake and Rice Crispy Treats for Ralf and myself. When I took the phone I told him I enjoyed his family's hospitality very much. His response was "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE".

Colson Canyon

Brady, Colin's older brother, was also a passionate motocross and dirt bike enthusiast, and offered to take me out to nearby Colson Canyon to ride his Kawasaki KDX 200. I excitingly said, hell yeah, and off we went. Brady dropped me off, drove his pickup ahead to meet me at the top of the canyon dirt trail. Until then I only was used to pure motocross bikes, not enduro types, the difference being, that motocross bikes had no handlebar guards. Unfortunately the one on the right, where the front brake lever was, was not attached properly, and it prevented me from applying the front brake. Since the trail was steep and very rocky with loose gravel, I did not want to apply the rear brake, and going relatively fast I kept trying to apply the front brake, albeit unsuccessfully. I saw a right turn come up, and going way too fast to make that turn, I continued to apply the front brake, but the next thing I know, I'm sitting in a tree, with the bike pinning my left leg to the tree trunk. I felt blood trickling down my left eye inside the helmet, and thought, Oh no, I messed up Brady's bike. I was able to crawl out from under the bike which ended up sideways on top of me in the tree about 5 feet above ground. I dropped down, and managed to also get the bike down. I then crawled up the bank to the road, as I could not walk with my left leg badly hurting. I sat down, and eventually Brady came back knowing something had happened. He and I managed to get the bike back onto the pickup truck, and drove home to Orcutt. 

When we arrived at 153 Ross Lane in Orcutt, I was limping pretty badly, and the bike had a bent fork. Apparently there was a branch that had scraped the side of my head by entering the helmet right next to where the googles protected my eyes. This whole thing could have been a lot worse, and I decided I would never tell anyone how I ended up flying into a tree because I was too busy screwing with the front brake that I forgot to apply the rear brake. I even remember looking at the damn flapping guard thinking, who designed this sh*t?

Later that day we went to the hospital and I ended up getting a leg brace since my ligaments in the back of my knee were severely sprained. 

Ralf and I decided to hit the road again, since I felt too embarrassed and ashamed to stick around, especially after messing up Brady's bike, which ended up costing $200 to repair. 

We drove north, following the Pacific Coast Highway, to Big Sur, Monterey, and on to San Francisco. After driving around a while we found the spot where you overlook the bay with the Golden Gate Bridge to the right, and the City on the far side of the bay to the left. A breathtaking view. After that we drove East through Yosemite, south on the East side of the Sierra Nevada down to Las Vegas, from there to the Grand Canyon, Bryce and Glen Canyon and eventually ending up in Monument Valley. From there we stopped in Cameron, AZ, the hometown of Tina, a Navajo native who served with me at SOC3. After spending the night at the Trading Post we drove South to Flagstaff, where we picked up Route 66 to Kingman. From there we found the Imperial Sand Dunes East of San Diego. In San Diego I met with another former Air Force buddy of mine from Sembach, who was now stationed on Coronado Island. From San Diego we took a quick walk into Mexico, which was so scary, that we immediately returned to the U.S., which made the border guards laugh. After that we drove back up north for out flight back home, but not without stopping in Irvine, where I tried to apply for a job at Oakley. Even then I was very ambitious, determined to move to the U.S. at some point to pursue my dream of becoming an American.