Many many years ago, by human standards, my sister had a friend who had an Alaskan Timber Wolf, which was explained to me was illegal. Her friend had claimed on paperwork it was something like 2% Husky and as a result was allowed to keep it as a pet. I don't know the circumstances under which she came to "own" this wolf but I think she had it from when it was very little. 

She visited my sister in Maryland. I forget the year but I got to meet the wolf who she had brought with her to my parents house, apparently because it could not be left alone. This is all a very long time ago and my memory of these events and the stories behind them are imperfect. I remember how struck I was upon meeting the wolf how tall and lean it was with nasty nasty teeth. It was honestly scary looking and I was quite concerned about the safety of all involved, but to my surprise it was so very very timid. My sister's Basset hound, Faust, would dominate it repeatedly which amused my sister to no end. 

I remembered thinking, "This is not ok." to have this wild animal in this context. I thought it seemed afraid. I was fascinated by how it did not behave like a dog at all. When it smelled something it would raise its nose up not down to the ground. Unlike a dog, it did not seem to understand hand motions or facial expressions at all. I felt it was endlessly confused and out of sorts. I wish I could remember her name, but she showed us that any smell the wolf encountered that was unfamiliar would prompt it to become one with the smell. It was in the living room with us and she sprayed some Lysol on the carpet and the wolf immediately started rolling around in it. 

This animal was wild. Despite its timid demeanor one could feel this animal was not in a context that was anything like it had evolved in. I remember my sister telling me how much work it took to keep this wolf and how it would howl so much that it became a problem for her friend. One could just feel that this animal had not evolved to be around humans. I felt for the critter but knew so much less back then than I do now. There was a part of me that thought it was really cool to have met a wolf as I had, as a little kid, pondered that an old wolf was my "spirit animal", after having been introduced to that concept. 

In contrast I remember a dog that a friend of mine, Megan, had encountered in the woods on one of her hikes, a hound that had apparently been abandoned some while ago. It approached her and as I remember her describing it it was clear the hound was in bad shape and looking for help. The hound saw her and approached the human clearly looking for for help.

Interesting.

She tried her best to find the owner, most likely a hunter, but to no avail so after quite a bit of effort she adopted the dog. If I remember correctly she named her Maybe. In contrast to the wolf, Maybe was a socialized animal who knew how to be around humans and had clearly grown up around them, and for some reason that is true of "domesticated" dogs and not wild animals, knew how to fit in. Maybe was a wonderful dog that I met a few times.  

I ponder the behavior of the wolf in contrast to the abandoned dog. Dogs have been around humans long enough that one can argue they have evolved traits that cause them to be able to live comfortably, as far as we can tell, with humans and humans have also developed an affinity for dogs as evidenced by research that says that losing a dog evokes many of the same brain circuitry as losing an offspring. 

There is, however, an in-between class of canine. There are canines that have all the physical evolved characteristics of domesticated dogs but have not grown up in that context, but instead have grown up in the wild, more in the context of the wolf. 

Feral dogs. Unsocialized but evolved to be with humans. Well, at least that is a story we tell ourselves. 

There is a story of a particular feral dog that has occupied my mind for some years now. A good Facebook friend who I have never met in person, Samantha, took in a feral dog, and for years has been telling this captivating story of slowly, not taming, but befriending this feral dog meeting her where she was, with the patience and compassion of a saint or Zen master, accepting that this was dangerous and managing the danger. 

And even though this feral dog developed in the context of the wolf, I can tell from the stories, that wolf behavior is not learned. There are vestiges, echoes, hints of a life with humans the dog would have been better suited to. Yes, it adapted as many critters can adapt, but the infrastructure for something different, maybe better, was built in. And with Samantha's work befriending this dog and showing her nervous system a safety she has never known, more doglike behaviors have started to show, sometimes dramatically.

I hope to visit with Samantha and her husband Ron on this trip in Moab and meet the dog that has been the subject of so many stories I have read and has fueled my thinking. 

How is any of this in any way related to a cross country motorcycle trip? 

Many people talk about the reason "why they ride". They tell stories of freedom, individuality, etc. Some talk about "wind therapy". 

I have often pondered the question, "Why do I ride?" The original motivation for riding to Colorado was because Kaitlyn, Bruce's oldest, is getting married and I was told she wanted me there. I didn't even ponder for an instant flying out. I knew, as if it was a memory of a decision already made, that I was going to ride. 

It's a bad time of year to ride. Colorado is going to be cold. It's dangerous. Two wheels. Out in the elements. Heat. Cold. Dust. Bugs. Blinding Western setting sun. Traffic. Deer. Potholes. 

It would make so much more "sense" to fly out, go to the wedding and then fly back. 

But instead I ride despite the fact that I am in a great deal of pain. It costs ridiculously more in time, money, and effort than flying, but nevertheless I ride. 

Why?

When I was a little kid I was always drawn to wandering. As soon as I was allowed to, I would walk as far as I could. When I got my first bicycle I would explore every trail I could find. And then when I got my first motorcycle, at the ripe old age of 7, I would ponder going farther. As I was permitted to go a bit farther, I would explore. Occasionally I'd encounter other kids on their proper dirt bikes, I had been given a Harley X90 two stroke street bike which I rode on trails with. Other kids had the cool thin knobby tired proper dirt bike. But they always wanted to ride so fast and irresponsibly. I wanted to go slowly but far. 

And when I got my first real street bike, it was a foregone conclusion I was going to use it to go somewhere. 

And that's how it's always been. I see a vehicle and I think of going. I never understood this at the time but see it clearly now in retrospect. 

On the Great 2010 Alaska trip of 2010 I began to understand that being Out There (Out Here?) brought me a calm that I did not know in my day to day life. On many trips after that, I found the same calm and would ask myself time and time again, "Why can't I feel at home the way I do on the road?" 

No other thing I did brought the same feeling. So I would tell myself, "I ride because it brings me a peace I have not known anywhere else."  It makes no sense. A two wheeled contraption hurtling me through time and space at dangerous velocities death constantly milliseconds away. 

Why? 

I ponder the feral dog evolved to live in a different context. 

Humans, as evidenced by the fact that they are now all over the planet, are a traveling species. While there are those of us who feel compelled to live in one spot there are others who are compelled to wander. 

Why does a dog chase a stick? Why does a dog want to go for walks and never get tired of it? 

Why do humans like language and stories? 

Why do I ride? 

Maybe the answer is simply I have inherited some recessive traits handed down that evoke the traveler and that somehow riding evokes enough of whatever it is. Maybe that's all there is to it. 

Interestingly, the only other thing I have found the evokes the same sense of peace, is sailing far. 

So much has happened over the last few days. So many stories to tell. So little time to tell them.

Dana sent me a message, "Why are you in Michigan. I thought you were going to Colorado?"

"I am. But I challenged a friend of a game of pool. Priorities!"

I rode up to Michigan because I challenged Jay to a game of pool. Meeting his family and the impressions, insights, and conversations and what they evoked could occupy a tome. There are just some humans you meet where you think, "More of these, please." 

There is so much to say, but it has gotten quite late. 

So I leave you with a some photos: