Last May one of the most boring stretches of road I’ve ever been on gave a lesson. Jerry and I left Meridian, Idaho, about 8 in the morning, fleeing the sun on I-84. Near Ontario, Oregon, we split, he continuing west on Highway 20 to his home near Salem, me turning south on Highway 395 to my Temecula abode. To be brief, much of 395 in that part of Oregon consists of boring brush. Blah scenery. Mostly straight roads. The bike didn’t match my previous Goldwing for wind protection at 80, so music wasn’t an option. I did outline some Unconventional posts in my mind to write down that evening, like this one. But I got bored and tired and a bit sleepy.
Then…
Read MoreI’d ridden a dirtbike once, didn’t even know how to shift. Then “Easy Rider” captivated me with the freedom of the open road, so I bought a Honda 350 Scrambler with plans to head to Canada to see a college roommate. I knew nothing, and a month after the purchase I took off. An idiot. But I became a sponge, reading motorcycle mags, talking to experienced riders. And during every ride, I’d analyze what worked, what didn’t. How to set up a curve safely to do it fast. How to brake most effectively without flipping or laying down the bike. And the experts proclaimed…
Read MoreThomas Wolfe’s novel You Can’t Go Home Again has become a catchphrase, a metaphor of the impossibility because people and places inevitably change. After six decades of three annual trips to the Sierras, I then entirely missed three years, for various reasons. So I eagerly expected a great return to my beloved Rock Creek above Tom’s Place. A relatively minor change in my favorite camping spot should have brought Wolfe’s line to mind on greater changes. It did…
Read MoreMy love for speed came early—at my age of 8, Dad got his 55 Ford Fairlane 500 V8 up to 120 in the Nevada desert, kept it between 105 and 115, and it hooked me. I’ve driven fast, a lot, and had driven several nice cars, even a race bred Lotus Elan. When living in the mountains above Taos with a full-sized Ford van, only a Z passed me.
But the Lamborghini…
Read MoreOn our early long bike tours , music played no role. Instead, we spent a lot of time in our minds: thinking, pondering, praying, questioning. A lot of major life decisions got determined to the gentle hum of the bike’s motor. Or, we’d play “Easy Rider,” set our throttle locks, stretch our arms to the side and flap them like birds, singing the tune, “If you want to be a bird.” No bird brain jokes, please. Other times, the four of us pretended slalom ski, curving between the white paint strips. Right turn, left turn, wash, rinse, and repeat. The rhythm of all four of us matching the others and creating a motorcycle serpent, held beauty brought grace.
Later…
Read MoreIn my early years, I relied on youth and vigor and a strong body. At 26 came a 31 state, 13,000-mile ride on a naked semi-chopped Honda CB750. The longest day stretched between Beaumont and El Paso, all in Texas, well over 800 miles. Stops only for gas and meals. No windshield, no cruise control, no Cramp Buster, a duffle bag serving as a minimal backrest, no highway pegs. And I loved it! Then. But I’ve picked up some new tricks along the way. Some by necessity…
Read MoreWe all like options, whether the best flavor of ice cream or which house to buy. Something innate within us resists binary issues, where only two choices exist. Truly, most issues give a variety of options. But sometimes, our choices are binary. One or the other, not both. By their nature. Whether or not we like it. Let’s explore that…
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