The Go Meet Everyone Cross Country Trip

I lost a lot of time yesterday having to run unexpected errands so I am about to walk out to the garage and start prepping the bike. There's not that much to do but for some reason, I suppose obvious, I'm dreading the task. There are too many ghosts in the garage now and I've grown to dislike turning wrenches alone.

I need to:

1. Replace the front brake lines. I had tried to install a new set before the October trip but I destroyed them on install. Stupid mistake. The ones on there now are too short. 
2. Replace the tires. This will take the most time. Michelin no longer makes my favorite tire in sizes that fit my bike, so I'm going to try the Bridgestone BattleAx T33 Sport Touring Tires. We'll see what I think of them.
   
   The '92 BMW K100RS has a problematic 160/60ZR18 sized tire on the rear. 
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3. Oil and filter change. 

I need to finish packing and going over the equipment list, which shouldn't take long.

It's going to be a crazy hot ride so I'm trying to prepare for that best I can. Hydration is key so for the first time on a street trip I'm going to be wearing a Camelbak.

I've also ordered a cheap evaporative cooling vest which hopefully will be helpful in the desert heat.
I suspect it won't do much in the soup of the Southern States. I do have an evaporative base layer that I've had good luck with, called Heat Outs from CycleGear. I'm not sure if they still sell them. I'm on the fence about the gear to wear. The plan is to wear the Transit Suit. It flows pretty well and reflects some heat, but it'll reprise its title of Toxic Suit pretty quickly. The flies will be in danger. Sadly, Aerostich does not have any of the new pants in stock. I replaced the jacket but am still running the told, now not water proof, pants, which sucks. I suspect there will be a lot of rain and some storms. 

Then there's making sure I have all my development tools synced on the development notebook. I plan to do some work and hopefully some writing from the road. 

While unwise, after a major six month push, I've finally installed all the latest software so I have a video call with Wayne to go over all the work that has been done. There are a lot of new features in the map editor. As you can see from the planning map, I now finally support routes that loop back on themselves where a single place can represent multiple stops in a trip.

 

As seems to be the rule rather than the exception, I did not get everything done in time so I hit the road well after the crack of noon. I had wanted to be in Los Alamos by Sunday evening but it looks like it's going to be Monday evening. With this shoulder and back of mine, my 1000 mile days are likely behind me. 

It has become a tradition to stop at Bob's BMW (now "Motorcycles") to say hello to Drew.  

 

Last year when I went on the Colorado/Moab trip, I stopped by to say hello to Drew before heading out. Now it's tradition. If all goes well, I'll loop back and say hello again when I return. 

I geared up to leave and as I got on my bike, helmet on ear plugs in, a guy walked up and asked about my bike. 

"I like the vintage bikes." he said. "What is it?"

"'92 K100RS. I'm not sure how I feel about the word 'vintage'." 

He asked some questions about the bike. It is an odd bike after all with the engine laid on its side the cylinder head on the left sticking out and the lower end on the right. The look of the cylinder head when the bike is underway gave it the nickname, "Flying  Brick." Today I was thinking it has the aerodynamics of a brick so aptly named.

He then asked about all the gear. "Are you touring? Where are you headed?"

I told him I was just starting out and that my intention was to head to Los Alamos, then Moab, then Seattle, then San Diego, and so forth. He seemed interested in the trip and asked if I was documenting the trip and asked how to follow. 

People keep asking me to write, but the words have been silent for so long. Even now. There are thoughts, ponderings, insights, but the fatigue sets in ... 

Because of scheduling complications, I am not going to be able to take a meandering trip cross country. I want to ride with Bruce around New Mexico and Colorado but he has a limited time window. So despite saying I would never do it again, years and years ago, I'm heading out Interstate 70, a.k.a. the epic super slab in an attempt to make good mileage.

I suspected my view for the next four days would resemble this.

Knowing that I would soon be passing into the Outer Lands, I decided it would be correct to pay my respects to a local religious institution. Soon I will be in areas where they practice strange foreign traditions known as Wawa and Royal Farms among other lesser know sects.  

 

It has been years upon years since I've spent any significant time on super slab. I saw the brake lights ahead and pondered a slowdown. I did not expect a complete stop. I sat there for some time and eventually turned the bike off. It was ridiculous. 

After some 20 minutes, I noticed a rider stopped on the side of the road next to the long line of tractor trailers. Overheating and deciding to brave the potential ticket I rode along the shoulder passing by the stopped vehicles. A short distance up ahead was one of those emergency vehicle turn arounds.

"Have you seen any law enforcement?" I asked him as I rolled up. "Just the one that went through the turn around a few moments ago." 

He complimented my bike and then I noticed his was a very recent R1250RS. I said, "If I were to ever get a new bike, it would probably be that one." 

"It seems to be the spiritual successor to your bike." he answered. 

I agreed.

I told him I was going to risk it, so I headed to the illegal turn around and raced back to the last exit with the intention of making my way around all this nonsense. 

The first country road I came across that was heading jn the right direction had a "Road Closed" sign prominently displayed. I have learned that these are often lies so I thought I would check it out. 

As it turns out, just before the turn that would have led me around the traffic jam there was, in fact, a closed road. The bridge was under active construction.  

So I backtracked with the intention of looping North along a route that looked promising when, at a stop light, I saw the R1250RS rider pass by and wave. The light turned green and I caught up to him. I deduced he had come to the same conclusion I did.  

As is so often the case, interruptions and misdirections lead to a more interesting trip. These were wonderful side roads that then eventually merged back onto route 40 which is itself gorgeous in Western Maryland. 

The R1250RS rider was a serious disciplined rider. He was good to follow. 

It was a risk but we found an onramp and to our good fortune it was past the epic traffic jam.  

I followed the R1250RS rider for some miles when he veered off to Hanock presumably to get gas at the infamous ghetto Sheetz. I continued on to route 68 and points West.

I was using my app which displays the route I had laid out along with my current position. I find I prefer it for navigation. The routing engine I used for it is an open source project called GraphHopper. It does a really good job of calculating routes based on a set of way points but sometimes it chooses routes that differ dramatically from Google Maps. It's a feature, not a bug, because I tend to end up on interesting roads as a result that I wouldn't if I just blinding followed Google Maps. 

There is a downside, however, My app, having static routes that are used offline, is not traffic aware. 

3 miles from the exit to the hotel room I had reserved, I came across this epic traffic jam. 

I relented and switched over to Google Maps and it gave me the bad news.  

8 minutes was a lie. It was more like 40 to go all of a half mile. I ended up getting off the bike. The trucker behind me laughed and shrugged. 

We did not move for some time.  

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, I got to an off ramp and was able to make my way along a service road to the hotel. It was a good thing because traffic was at a complete standstill.  

I rolled into the hotel parking lot just after 8pm. Given I spent well over an hour sitting in traffic and got a crazy late start, the fact I was able to even do 300 miles without too much pain is encouraging. My left shoulder hurts and the feeling that it is going to be much worse looms large but today was not a bad day. 

If I can get an early start tomorrow I may be able to muster 500 maybe 600 miles, which if I can do it will be longer than any day I've done since the injury.  

I approve of reserved motorcycle parking right in front of the lobby. 

I'm at a MicroTel Inn and Suites. This place is surprisingly nice for what is relatively inexpensive by modern standards.  

 

So far the bike has been running well. These new BattleAx tires are surprisingly good. I think I can get used to them. It's strange how personal a thing like tires are on a bike. Ever since I came across the Michelin Pilot Road 2's back in 2010 I've exclusively used them. Before that I ran Metzelers which I had been running since I was a teenager. They have a different profile that is much sharper, more "race track", so when you turn they tend to turn in very quickly, which is what you want on a track.

The Michelins in contrast have a more street oriented profile and provide a much more gradual lean in, which I have grown to prefer. 

I ride on the street and like equipment designed for the street. 

Interestingly, these new tires have a similar profile and provide a similar feeling of stability. And they seem to grip really well. 

Not bad. 

It was warm today but not too hot. As is the case whenever new gear is introduced, it's taking some time to get used to wearing a hydration pack with all the street leathers, but it's better. Despite having it and drinking more water than I would normally I arrived at the hotel severely dehydrated. I seem to be more sensitive to that than I ever used to be. Change is a constant. 

 

This is a very rough draft. Sorry, I ran out of time.

 

As I was packing up the bike to get ready to go, I came across these two riders who took an interest in the bike. The Beloved Blue Oil Burner has been getting a crazy amount of attention on this trip. It's almost unnerving. Everywhere I stop some person or other walks up to ask about the machine and then where I'm headed. 

These two walked up to ask me about the bike. They had met up here in Wheeling, West Virginia. One came in from Ohio and the other from Fort Washington, Maryland, the to adjacent to where I grew up. They told me their names and, of course, I no longer remember.

I was a bit concerned about the bike because I couldn't see any oil in the window. I thought maybe it was because of the incline. I was trying to keep the bike level off the center stand but it's really awkward to hold the bike and look at the sight glass. I asked if maybe they could hold the bike up while I looked closer. Maybe I hadn't had enough coffee because I was having a Stupid(tm). They asked me about my concern and they mentioned a shop nearby where I could have it checked out. 

I looked at them quizzically for a second and then came understanding. "Oh, I just put the bike back together again with my best friend". That changed the conversation. 

Then I realized the oil level was correct. It's just really clean since I had just changed it. For the last two years I've been doing too much work on diesel engines. It's weird how knowledge atrophies.  

They asked me some more questions about the bike and then moved on to how many hours I could ride non-stop. I told them that I prefer taking more stops rather than fewer.

"It's the stops where the magic happens." 

They how far I was going and I mentioned Los Alamos. 

"Is that your final destination?" 

"Oh no. From there I'm planning to head to ...." and so forth. 

This led to a longer conversation about motorcycle travel. 

"Man, I've been dreaming about a trip like that for years, but I don't know. I'm even retired." the one guys said. 

"So just go. There's nothing to it. You've already ridden 300+ miles to get here. Just pretend this is where you are starting and go another 300+ miles in that direction. Repeat a few times and you'll be on the West Coast in no time." 

I spent the rest of the day thinking about this encounter. There's a fear of the unknown. The mind gravitates to the 1 in 100,000 stories of misfortune. Talk to people about sailing and they will inevitably worry about sharks. Yet, those same people are not concerned about ticks and mosquitoes, because the latter are familiar and they already know and live with the much larger threat daily. However, it's the unknown risk that prevents actions. Of course, now that I mention sharks, I do have a friend who lost someone to a shark attack in the islands. 

I remember for the Trans America Trail trip I was really concerned about bears and wolves in addition to venomous snakes. I had heard stories. I encountered bears and snakes and heard wolves in the distance and none of it was a problem. The only critters I had a problem with were dogs and bugs

"There's nothing to it." kind of stuck with me. Once one has done something successfully, the intimidation of the thing seems to dissipate almost instantly. The Alaska Trip is "only Alaska" now as I immediately think of people who did the really scary thing and rode down to Argentina. They talk about the ones who rode across Russia. And so forth.

It reminds me of conversations I have regularly with my friend Andy. Andy started running distance in earnest back in 2020 and did his first half marathon which seemed like a crazy accomplishment to me. He then went on to run a marathon, and then a number, and moved on to ultra marathons. And each time he would say the same thing, "Once it's done then it doesn't seem like that big a deal." When he finished his first 100 mile in under 24 hour ultra, he said, "Well, it's only a 100" and started training for the 200. 

I regularly tell him I know no other human who has done anything like this to which he always replies, "I don't know anyone who goes on the kind of adventures you do" which always catches me off guard. It's only a little ride unlike the big ones real adventurers do. Then he tells me about the elite people in his sport that stretch the limits of human capability.

There's nothing to it. 

Just go. 

The fear of the unknown limits experience and confines the spirit to a smaller life.

Of course there will be problems. Of course it will be hard. 

"If you're not doing the hard things, why even bother?" Andy often mentions. 

Maybe it will go badly. Maybe the bike will break. But it's just a little ride from gas station to gas station, hotel to hotel. 

If not now, then when? Time is short and we are all one unfortunate event away from not being able to do it at all. 

Just go. 

As I put on my helmet they said, as almost everyone does, "Ride safe." to which I replied, "I'll try but not too hard. Safety third." 

That's the thing. There is nothing "safe" about riding a motorcycle. No amount of training or gear will ever make this safe. There is a constant threat of an immediate life altering negative outcome. Barreling down an interstate at 75 bad things can always happen. I look down at the pavement and always think about my demise.

This is not safe. There is no such thing as safety. There is only risk management. Training. Practice. Gear. Caution. These mitigate the risk but do not eliminate it.

But the reality is nothing is safe. There are only different risk profiles. 

Cars are dangerous. Walking is dangerous. Being in a house is dangerous. 

But sitting doing nothing is also dangerous. 

Living is dangerous and I find that the attempt to seek security, certainty, "safety" is one of the root causes of the harm human beings do in this world. 

There is no safety. There never has been.   

I rolled off to head to points West. 

There are these old towns I pass and every time I find myself wanting to explore them, but I never do. 

At one point there was a sudden slowdown in front of me. It's not every day you see an accident like this.

Construction was relentless. It seems like all of I70 is one big construction site. 

And there was so ridiculously many tractor trailers. The last time I rode along I70 there were a fraction as many. I pondered how much the population in the West has grown in the intervening years and wondered if that might be the root cause of this incredible increase in tractor trailer traffic. 

Ridiculous construction. 

When we say "Super Slab" this is what we mean. 

At one point I was rolling along and looked up to see this.  

Another thing that struck me is how much the trucking industry has grown. Want to buy a tractor trailer? Well, over there there's a tractor trailer dealer. One of many.  

I missed the Welcome to Ohio sign but caught the leaving Ohio sign. I was doing pretty well. My should hardly hurt at all. 

Traffic was relentless with an ever greater density of construction sites.  

I encountered precious few motorcycles. This guy rode up with temp tags on his brand new bike.  

And the super slab continued. 

Another state.  

Towards the end of the day clouds started streaming in. I had learned about these clouds, what they are called, and what they mean in one of the sailing courses I took, but I have since forgotten. 

I see them and I think, "Not good." 

For the first time in years I managed to do 550 miles in a single day. I used to regularly do much more but this back and shoulder of mine has limited my abilities. But today for the first time since the injury it was all manageable. I have a Camelbak and was diligent about staying hydrated. Maybe that helped. Honestly my biggest limitation was the seat. I dawns on me my beloved and coveted Saddleman Seat is 12 years old now and no longer as comfortable as it used to be. I'm going to buy an AirHawk and have it shipped to Bruce's. That should help me to do more miles. 

But of course, as I write this my shoulder is starting to act up which is disappointing. 

When I rolled up to the hotel these guys were there and challenged me to a race. They complimented the bike and we got to talking about travel, as you do. As I went up to my room, they brought the little bike with them.

"Huh, if they let you take yours I wonder if they'll let me take mine?" 

 

 

The day before yesterday I stopped for my first visit on this Visit Everyone trip. I met Michael and Michelle about 12 years ago when they rode out to meet John and I when we were heading across country. I remember thinking there was an instant feeling of familiarity and we have stayed in touch ever since. In 2016 when I was broken down in Fort Smith, about 100 miles away from where they live they drove down to meet me. Sadly, some years ago Michael had a huge motorcycle wreck and no longer rides. He was sad that I had not visited him years earlier because there were so many roads around where he lives in Arkansas that he wanted to show me. 

They put me up in a comfortable room and Michelle then proceeded to make a very carefully done steak and asparagus dinner. She had paid careful attention to my posts and already knew about all my limitations. They read all the warnings about "Do Not Feed the Yermos" but disregarded them completely. 

"You realize, I now owe you a life debt." I told her. 

We talked all evening and then again all morning. We got to know each other better in those few hours than in the preceding years. There are just some souls you come across that get it and for a brief moment you're not alone. But then, as is always the case on journeys like this, the moment is over too soon. I hope to be able to visit them again before another decade passes. 

I needed to cross another 769 miles to get to White Rock where I will be staying with Bruce and Ha. Bruce and I intend to go on a loop ride for a few days. We're not yet sure where we'll go, but it'll be good to spend time with him. For both of us it's a bit hard. Duncan was the third band member and for most of our lives if we did a motorcycle trip it was always the three of us. His loss follows me where I go. It just all feels so wrong that we'll never get the band back together.

The slog across the Big, Flat, and Hot has not been as bad as I feared. I suspect because of the heat, that problematic shoulder/back muscle on the left side next to my shoulder blade has not been cramping up nearly as badly as it usually does. So far, it hasn't come close to hampering my range of motion. When it's bad I can't turn my head which is awkward on a motorcycle.

Honestly, the seat or my terminal case of old white man's saggy ass syndrome has been the biggest problem. It makes doing three hour 200 mile sessions challenging. (The fact that I've multiple 200 mile sessions now is a bit mind boggling given where I was just 8 months ago.)

I imagine if I can get that back muscle to calm down and somehow lessen the pain in my rear and legs that I'd be able to go much further in day. Yesterday, as I clicked off 495 miles in crazy heat, possibly due to heat exhaustion, I started pondering whether or not I should build up to try an "Iron Butt SaddleSore 1000" which is to long distance motorcycle riders what a marathon is to runners.

The Iron Butt Association runs a rally called the Iron Butt Rally which is an 11,000 mile event over 11 days run every two years on odd years. It's like a motorcycle ultra-marathon. 

It is an invitation only event. I've only ever known one person who's run it and he ended up placing third, which is impressive. If things go to plan I'll cross paths with a Facebook friend, Kerri, who is a long distance riding fiend and clicks off 1000 mile days the way Andy clicks off marathons. She has also run in the rally. 

To open the association up to more riders, they started an authenticated challenge for us mere mortals called the SaddleSore 1000. The idea is you set out to ride 1000 miles in a day and you have to document the ride carefully according to their rules which includes getting receipts at every gas stop among other things. If they accept your documentation they send you a license plate frame. It's a silly thing. I've done 1000 miles in a day two, maybe three times, years ago. However, in the last decade the most I've done in a day is about 760 and that was on the DR650. That hurt. 

Until last October I wasn't even able to ride 90 miles at a stretch without being in agony that verged on dangerous. With some changes in how I ride, some exercises, drinking a ton more water, and maybe random chance, it's  improved dramatically as evidenced by how this has been going, but it is still there and I know that in the cold it'll cramp up. 

But it is better than it was. Much better. I have to think some of the effort I've put in has helped effect this change.

So that got me to thinking ,now that I have these limitations, I ponder whether or not trying to do a 1000 mile day in some kind of official way might not be a nice way to frame attempting to further resolve these issues. Duncan always wanted to do it and we talked about giving it a try but things went down hill and he was no longer able to ride distance then not at all. Broke my heart. 

As I ponder challenging myself, I have often been told when I describe what I am facing that, "Well, you're not exactly a young man any more." 

There's this prominent idea in this country that age implies disability. It's part of the culture. 30 is old and when bodies start creaking, backs start going out, knees hurt, and in general everything goes down hill. The aches and pains and mobility limitations are all a result of, well, simply being old. And we just have to accept this gracefully, walker on the ready. 

But this has never seemed to make sense to me.

Ever seen some of those guys from Papa New Guinea? I watched a documentary about their life style and they were interviewing this guy, 70 years old, absolutely ripped and moved like a 20 year old. That made an impression.

When I was little kid I hurt more than I do now. I threw my back out for the first time when I was like 6 or 7. I was immobile for over 24 hours. That would happen pretty frequently over the years. My shoulders have been a problem since I was about 18. Of course, by that point I had been working in front of a computer for 11 years and for that last four years or so it was crazy hours at the keyboard. I've been sick my entire life. So I guess that makes me see things differently.

There came a moment when I was introduced to the concept that I could actually have an effect on my own outcome. That concept is what led me to eventually discover the diet and the misery that is my life was lessened dramatically.

I could have an effect.

In 2020 I had come across an online physical therapist who worked with me and got me to a point where I could even start practicing guitar again. Simple exercises done in specific ways and suddenly muscles that had been locked up for ages released and my hands worked again. 

Did I keep that up? Of course not. Soon back to my old habits, long hours in front of the keyboard, and all the problems came back. Sadly, she is no longer doing physical therapy and I have not been able to find anyone that's been able to help me the way she did. And did I document what she had me do? Did I take notes? No. 

So over the last couple of years or so I've taken it upon myself to start learning the topic and have made some progress which is evident by the fact that I'm now in Amarillo, Texas. 

So back to age. Of course there are things that degrade over time that are directly age related. My vision is not what it was. Memory is failing, but that may be because I have trouble sleeping. Pain does hurt differently. I suspect that is age. 

But, I question if the problems I have riding are "age" and maybe it's more "time since last exercise". 

Have I taken the shoulder rehab work that I know to do seriously? No. Inconsistently at best. Have I been doing squats, RDLs, and other exercises to address the saggy ass syndrome which would help dramatically with the sitz agony? No, of course not. 

Have I worked on the mobility constraints arising from spending a lifetime at a desk in front of a computer? Not consistently. 

So until I have put full consistent effort into doing the things I have demonstrated can at least improve things, I can't say that it's age. When I was younger, and much much sicker, I still moved much more than I do now. Life was less sedentary. 

Somewhere along the way with the stress of life and burdens of obligations, I began to move much less. My shoulders bowed forward. I developed what they call the "tech hump" at the base of neck. Muscles atrophied. 

Age? 

Maybe. 

But until I take responsibility and make The Work a full priority, I can't say for sure. Obviously, at some point it will be. It waits for us all. But maybe if I can somehow muster the discipline and consistency to do The Work in all its facets, I may be able to say:

"Yes. Some day, but not today."

So maybe a Saddlesore attempt is in my future. 

We'll see. 

I am currently in Hot Springs, South Dakota. There have been so many places, landscapes, roads, and most importantly people and conversations along the way that I have no hope of capturing.

But there are snippets. 

I spent a week with Bruce riding a loosely planned loop ride through parts of New Mexico, Colorado, and Utah. I wanted to show him the Million Dollar Highway and the North Rim road at Black Canyon of the Gunnison, which Robert had introduced me to last October. For last October's ride, Samantha, who used to run a motorcycle tour business, shared a compelling assortment of routes which I have noted carefully on the maps here. One such road is called the Moki Dugway, which I knew nothing about other than it's some kind of unpaved descent. I wasn't able to make it out that way in October. It turns out Bruce's friend Sven had attempted to get Bruce to ride it many times but it has never worked out. So before coming out here, he and I had talked about riding it on this trip but alas, it didn't look like we would make it down that way on this trip either. 

By unplanned coincidence, after we made our way to the top of the North Rim Road we found ourselves in Grand Junction. "Hmm. This is within striking distance of Moab." I thought as I pondered suggesting altering plans and heading that way.

But I felt quite conflicted. Bruce had never been to Moab on a bike and there were so many incredible things to show him there but I would be coming back there to visit Samantha and her husband Ron in just a handful of days. I felt a "no I can't suggest that" welling up. They have so much going on and I would hate to add to their burdens by being there without adequate warning. It would be rude especially since they've carved out some time the following week. 

The reasons to say "no" almost always limit. As I have been reminded of this morning, a "no" like this almost always comes from some feeling that has built up internally larger than is constructive. 

It's often fascinating to pause and dispassionately watch these feelings. It takes time to learn and is an uncomfortable often painful process. I call this "cultivating the watcher". Interestingly, some feeling and the toxic limiting belief associated with it often dissipate by the simple act of watching it.

I paused and realized it's silly. If they don't have the cycles to meet up, they'll just let me know. It'll feel weird to be so close after having planned a visit so many months in advance but I would be back. 

So I suggested to Bruce that instead of looping East that we loop West and stay in Moab and ride the incredible roads in the wider area there for the day. It would also mean we would be set up for an easy ride down to the Moki Dugway the next day. He agreed. 

I reached out to Samantha to see if maybe they would be up for meeting the two of us but as it turned out the timing didn't work. They had, as I expected, far too much going on. 

So Bruce and I rolled through the barren waste into the incredible landscape that is Moab. The heat took its toll but it was not as bad as we had feared. From Interstate 70, I took him down 128 which is simply a must see road. Even though I had just been there a handful of months ago, the landscape hits hard. 

 

We went down Potash Road to see the petroglyphs. There's this vertical wall that was spared from destruction when the road was built. It is covered in petroglyphs from multiple peoples spanning thousands of years. It's another must see stop in the area. 

Then we headed out towards Deadhorse Point State Park which is not to be believed. The road to it is deceptive as it looks like just a large plain. 

What you don't realize is that it's this narrowing sliver of land that towers 2000 feet over the river below.

We pondered heading out to Canyonlands Grand View Point Overlook but the heat was starting to take its toll and fatigue was setting in. We made our way back to Moab to call it a day. 

Travelling with Bruce is effortless. I first met Bruce in my first year of college in the motorcycle parking lot. We became instant friends. I met Duncan independently a few days later. They had been friends for while. Over the years the three of us, The Band, would go on many motorcycle adventures together logging many many thousands of miles. 

For both of us riding on trips like this, the memory of Duncan is ever present and it feels so wrong that he is not with us.  

I've been pondering influences quite a bit. There are those who we meet and the course of our life is forever altered. I have often said, and it is true, that had I not met Bruce and Duncan I would not have made it this far. Both introduced me to concepts of friendship and acceptance that I had never before been introduced to. Even a entire book could not capture a fraction what I have learned from the two of them. 

I think about the practical effects Bruce has had on me over the years. Bruce is eminently almost overwhelmingly practical. If it is practical then it is Good(tm). If it is even more practical then it is Better(tm). Bruce lives in a professional world that is far removed from what I have been doing. He understands business structure, communication, heirarchies, processes, and most importantly the ways these can all fail. He moved into safety and has become quite the well regarded professional. Over the years he would talk to me about what he has learned and I've often been surprised how much I have internalized. One such lesson was how any accident never has only a single cause. There's always a series of either bad decisions or smaller mistakes that lead up to the big failure. He often talked about how culture is involved in how these cascades unfold. It all made an impression. 

I sometimes wonder if maybe I am able to do some of the challenging and risky things I do successfully because of his influence and what I've learned. I certainly think differently. 

We pondered the Moki Dugway which in some way evoked the sense of the Haul road up in Alaska. It's gravel with down hill switch backs which can be challenging and one has to be cautious. There are lots of warnings about how dangerous it is. 

I have more off pavement experience than Bruce does. So we discussed it and fallback plans should it turn out to be worse than hoped. 

"Then again, Sven takes his chopper up it so it can't be that bad." Bruce joked. This reminds me of stories of grandmas in RV's going up the haul road which some motorcyclists along the way described as the worst road in the world. 

It all depends on how you take it. 

Based on what I had heard I thought the Moki Dugway would be a minor point along the way. I read up on it a little bit which is out of character for me. It's a gravel road that descends 1200 feet down a cliff wall. I was imagining something like some of the jeep trails I had descended during the Trans America Trail ride. 

We headed out not sure what we would encounter. "If it's too hard or risky we'll just turn around." 

That's something I really appreciate about Bruce. There is no ego in anything. We ride to ride together. It doesn't matter. It is such a gift to have someone to ride with like Bruce. 

Interestingly, he said he doesn't ride as much as he would like because "it's really hard to find people to ride with." I agreed but then he said, in typical practical Bruce fashion, "It's so rare to have someone who will actually show up when they say they will and then be ready to actually ride." 

That caused me to reflect for a bit because it's not something I've considered as a positive. Showing up when you say you will ready to ride with your bike in order and all the gear you'll need is just a given for me so much that I hadn't pondered it being done differently. 

So off we went in the heat towards the Moki Dugway. 

The first sign we had that our "Well, we can just turn around" backup plan might not work as expected was this sign.

121 miles without services and those services are presumably on the other side of the Moki Dugway. 

Albeit hot, it was a pleasant ride through a gently flowing landscape. 

Then we got our first hint that maybe this was going to be a more significant place than we had expected.

In the upper right corner of this photo you can just make out a large dust devil.

The road was wide and most of the switchbacks were actually paved. To say it was a non-issue, at least for us, is an understatement. I could see how someone might get in their head especially if they, like me, are terrified of heights.

But we were not prepared for how it felt to be there. Deadhorse Point State Park is crazy impressive but this is different somehow and I'm not sure why. Maybe it was because I had seen the other places before and this was new. But I also wondered if maybe it was because this was a place used to get somewhere else. It's just a road. Like Deal's Gap, it's just a road, but those of us who like roads are drawn to ones like this. The views are spectacular. Maybe it's because there is flat below and it goes on for so far that it makes it more impactful. I'm not sure but there's something to the place. 

We made it an extended stop. I found a little trail that led up into a cut so, of course, I had to go take a look ... on foot. 

This is actually what I thought the road might look like based on how some people described it. 

I have ridden my Beloved Blue Oil Burner on trails like this but I would not recommend it.

Through the cut was an even more impressive view and merciful shade with a place to sit.

Bruce, as Bruce does, started talking to guy who had stopped at the same corner. He was from Switzerland I think. He graciously offered to take a photo of Bruce and I.

After some time we got back on our bikes and made our way further down the Dugway. No issues. No drama. The most dangerous thing, as has been the case in so many places Out There(tm), is the risk of losing focus due to being mesmerized by yet another incredibly stunning view. 

We made it to the bottom. Looking back it's hard to see how there could a road that goes up it.

It was significantly warmer here than it was up there. A friend of Bruce's had recommended to check out a canyon a few miles away. Even from the top I could not see this canyon but soon we came across the sign for the turn to Gooseneck Canyon State park so in we went. 

There's a fee to enter.

There's a parking lot with some mercifully covered picnic tables. I was a bit spent from the heat but did eventually go to look over the edge. Once again, I was not prepared.

This is not visible at least as far as I could tell from the Dugway. With such differing landscapes one runs out of words. Photos and even video only reveal the slightest hint of what it is like to be physically in the presence of all this. 

We decided to make our way to Cortez and from there see about riding another day. On the way to Cortez we ran into some right proper heat. At one point the thermometer on my fairing, which always reads a bit high due to engine heat effect, read 118 degree Fahrenheit, which is the highest I have ever seen it read at 60 miles per hour. The Oil Burner's engine was struggling to keep the temperature under control and in doing so would bathe me in radiator fan heat. 

By the time we got to the hotel we were spent, but it had been an exceptional day. The Dugway was our favorite stop on this trip and I still cannot explain the emotional impact but there's something to it. We will have to go back. 

Upon looking at maps and weather, we decided to cut the ride a day short and head back to Los Alamos. I spent the next couple of days just working on code and helping Bruce with some projects around the house because, well, having a friend over who's handy is quite very practical indeed. 

The evenings were spent in the hot tub looking at the clear New Mexico sky being shocked at the sheer number of satellites that now litter it. 

The time is over before it felt like it had even begun. Time is odd on these long distance motorcycles trips, it's simultaneously very slow with a day filled with what feels like months of life and also weeks that feel like seconds. 

It came time for me to say goodbye until I loop back through on the return trip in some weeks time. So I packed up and got back on my Beloved Blue Oil Burner and made my way out to Durango then to Moab where I hoped to meet up with Samantha again who has become one of the newest old friends I've ever met. It is such a surprise to be able to make new significant friends this late in life. 

What a poorer life I would have led if not for motorcycles and wonderful souls I have met because of them. 

I have no idea if anyone actually sees anything here. If you happen to make it this far, it would mean a lot if you would please let me know. There's a deafening silence since the social sites make it so difficult to share links. 

If you know someone who might like stories of adventure motorcycle travel like these, please point them here. 

 

 

13 years ago I was riding through Montana about 50 miles South of Billings through this incredibly remote area when the lower U-joint in my driveshaft failed and separated and proceeded to cause the bike to rattle as if it were on rumble strips. The midday sun was rising. It was hot. I had insufficient water with me for the kind of unprotected heat I would face so I limped the bike at very slow speed back to the last gas station I saw some 10 miles earlier.

I knew there would be no fixing the bike this far from home so with some effort that resulted in an interesting tale, I managed to secure a Uhaul and a trailer and took my bike across the rest of Montana and South Dakota and on eastward home in a tow of shame. It was the first time my bike had ever been on a trailer. I rode by Sturgis and then the Badlands which was to be the next stop on my trip. I had always wanted to see the Badlands and had the intention of someday coming back. 

The damage was extensive. A sane person would have totaled the bike and called it done, but this was My Beloved Blue Oil Burner and I just couldn't let it end like that. 

I managed to find the parts I needed to rebuild it and would go cross country again in 2014 but I did not make it back to the Badlands. More trips were had down to Deal's Gap and other locations. 

In 2018 the engine failed. The bike sat for almost five years when Duncan said to me, "Dude, we have to get your bike back together again. You'll feel better once it's back on the road." 

He sacrificed so many weekends where we worked meticulously to assemble a bike out of all the parts I had. Engine from this, suspension from that, on so forth. I had to ask myself the philosophical question, "How many parts can you swap out before the bike is no longer my bike?" 

I decided the soul of the machine, correctly, lies in the Vehicle Identification Number so as long as the VIN is the same, then it's still My Beloved Blue Oil Burner. 

We did everything so carefully. I was not at all convinced that it would ever work again. Any parts that were questionable were carefully inspected or replaced. The transmission had been rebuilt recently but the final drive needed attention so I had it rebuilt. 

To my amazement, not only did we get the bike back together again but it is now better in every regard. But since then I've always had the lingering doubt as to whether there was some mistake that would eventually make itself known. 

So it's now been almost 20,000 miles since all this work was done and no major mistakes have made themselves known. 

I am now a bit over 5000 miles into my trip and I had a philosophical change of heart. Since the start I've been rushing a bit to try to match the schedules of those I would very much like to meet up with. This is, after all, the See Everyone Trip. I am hoping to meet a Facebook friend Lara in Seattle who I have been chatting with for years but have never met. I would like to ride with Ian. 

Ian said his window of availability had extended so I did not need to rush. I think that was a catalyst for me to remember something I had forgotten. Somewhere on the road I slowed down and let the goals and the timelines go. I stopped at The Medicine Wheel, an old first ones site that was situated at the top of a mountain that represented a two mile dirt road climb followed by a 1.5 mile walk each way.

 

I spent so much longer than I "should have" looking at this site. The walk out and back in full gear took it out of me but put me into a different frame of mind. For the first time since the trip has started I found myself feeling a Calm(tm) I have not known in quite some time. There was a letting go. 

Just two days before I had met up with Em, Robert's friend who is one of the most hard core long distance riders I've ever met. We spent a wonderful evening exchanging motorcycle travel stories. She had been Out There(tm) and I was struck when she said, "On my bike is the only place I have known peace." 

As anyone who knows me, that resonated. We talked about what we had seen and experienced. Rain. Of course, check. Hail, check. Tornadoes, "not my first rodeo" she said. Heat. Dust. Exhaustion. Check. She did the run from Tennessee to Rapid City in just under 24 hours, 1493 some odd miles. That is beyond anything I could hope to accomplish. 

And she thought I was the badass. 

We talked about when things went sideways and about motorcycle people. 

"The best things happen, it seems, when things go sideways." I had said at one point during our conversation. We talked about being the Traveler and being the one to help The Traveler. I speculated there's something about being the Traveler or seeing the Traveler that's somehow encoded into our being. We are, or at least many of us are, a traveling species. I've been both the Traveler in need and also the one encountering the Traveler in need. I've been the latter much more often than the former.

She talked about the incredible acts of kindness she's encountered Out There. I talked about the hunter who saved my sorry ass off that mountain back in 2016. I talked about the German couple I hosted for a week years ago while their bikes were being repaired. There were other stories to tell. The time Francois came out to get us and dropped off Megan's bike for us to use. 

There are so many who have asked me at home and on the road, "What happens if you break down?" 

"I'll fix it." 

And if you can't fix it? 

I had spent quite a bit of time a the The Medicine Wheel and it was getting later in the day so I knew I would not make it that far. I rolled through incredible countryside past tall snow dotted mountains and then got low on gas. I stopped at one point pondering which way to go and decided randomly to go left on an interesting road because it seemed that a town called Red Lodge that I knew nothing about was within striking distance. I made it in relatively short time despite some stress about my lowering fuel gauge. To my relief there was a gas station. I filled up and decided to take a break. They had this nice small boulder encircled picnic area where I sat and looked at where I might make it to before calling it a night. There was a town some number of miles up the road close to the interstate but after looking at restaurants and lodging there I realized the town I was sitting in, Red Lodge, had many more options. Most hotels were booked but there was one, The Lupine Inn on the South end of town that had some vacancies and was not stupidly expensive. I rolled over there and got a room.

Feeling the need to get to Seattle, I looked at routes towards I90 when a few people reached out and asked if I was going to ride Beartooth Pass. Because I am a big picture guy, I failed to realize that I was right next to it. After some pondering, I thought, "Why not?" I'm here. It's a fantastic climb. I'll take the time. 

"Give it time." echoed from a ride a long long time ago.

I had a nice dinner at the Black Canyon Bistro and then called it a night. 

The next morning, weather was rolling in and there was some question as to whether or not there would be snow but if I got a prompt start I should be able to make it over the pass in time without much drama. I had been a bit lax about checking tire pressures over the last few days so I decided to do that. 

The front was down just 2 psi. Fine. 

I went to check pressure on the back tire and of course the stem was in the exact wrong spot so I rotated the tire to bring the stem around where I could reach it when suddenly there was some unexpected resistance. It took some effort and the wheel moved and I checked the pressure and it was also within 2 psi. 

I paused and thought it was strange. 

I went into the room, suited up, got all my gear, and came back out to head out to the pass. 

I paused. The resistance I felt was bugging me. Honestly, it should have been an immediate lightning strike of concern but it was not. I tried to turn the wheel again and there was that same resistance. It felt like the bike was in gear but it would have taken so much more effort to turn it over. But it was reminiscent of it being in gear. I checked that it was in neutral. It was. Hmmm. 

So I fired it up and put it into gear while on the center stand. 

"clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk clunk"

"Oh that's not good." I thought calmly. I pondered for a moment about riding it as it was and then quickly realized that would be stupid. 

"There is doubt. So there isn't any." is one of my favorite sayings. "Is it ok? I don't know." is doubt so after a moment it was clear I could not ride the bike any further until I figured out whether or not this was a problem. 

Maybe it was a problem. Maybe it wasn't. But I felt that this was bad, so it had to be checked out. It would absolutely suck to be on a high pass or out in the midday desert sun and have it fail catastrophically. Getting a trailer around here is crazy difficult in my experience the last time.

I looked at the map again and realized, to my surprise, I was probably no less than 50 miles from the place where the drive shaft U-Joint broke in 2013.

Ironic. 

"My bike clearly wants to be buried in Montana." I thought. Maybe resurrecting it from the dead has been an undo burden on it and I just callously didn't notice. 

I played with the wheel again and thought that what I was feeling was most likely a failed u-joint. 

How ironic? 

I looked at it some more and realized there was no way of diagnosing the problem without taking the rear end of the bike apart. I needed to remove the muffler, rear wheel, brake caliper, and final drive and probably pull the drive shaft. This meant I would need more tools than I had and a heat gun. If I found a problem it would mean the bike would likely be apart for days. This is not something I could just do in a hotel parking lot. I would need a place that was covered, a carport maybe, or better yet maybe a shed or some space in someone's garage where I could leave it apart while getting parts delivered. 

The bike could not be ridden until I knew exactly what was going on. I didn't want the u-joint to fail completely, if that's what it was, and take out all those parts again. 

Regardless, it was going to take days. I walked to the hotel office and despite it being before 11AM they graciously let me book the room for an additional three days with an option to extend. "I will likely be here for a week if not more,." There's a music festival going on and there were virtually no vacancies in town. 

I needed to find a place to do the work. There was a NAPA auto parts store within walking distance so I could buy all the tools I would need. That's a huge plus.

I was feeling fortunate. I was secure. I had a room. There were restaurants and stores nearby. All in all if this was going to happen, I could easily think of much worse places.  

But I still needed to find a place to do the work. It was Saturday and the one mechanic was closed. There was a custom cycle shop that I found out had turned into a clothing store. This was going to take a while. 

I took a video of the sound and the resistance as best I could and posted it on IG and Facebook with a description of what I thought might be the problem and asked if anyone knew someone around Red Lodge that might have some space I could rent. A shed? A car port? Maybe I could get into a garage, but that seemed like a tall order. 

Not more than 10 minutes after I posted that I got the first call and it was Drew who is the first person, as is now traditional, I stopped to visit on this trip. He works at Bob's Motorcycles, formerly Bob's BMW, and offered to help in any way he could. 

Amazing. 

Then I got a call from Jared who is in Thailand! He knows people in the greater Red Lodge area and put some feelers out to see if anyone knew of anyone with some space I could borrow.

I then heard from a bunch of people through messenger. Robert posted asking if anyone knew anyone. Cooper Tom messaged me with some suggestions and found a local BMW mechanic up the road. Somehow the brother of that mechanic reached out, I guess someone tagged him. Robert's friend Mark who lives in Missoula offered several options. Moira in Texas reached out saying her friend Rachel has contacts that might be able to help. 

I have no words. 

Strangely, if I get the bike operational again, I have agreed to visit both of these friends of friends on my way West. Meet Everyone, not Just the People I Know.

Scott reached out saying he also knew people that if need be he could draw upon. 

Samantha reached out with options and suggested maybe I could rent a storage unit. I had pondered this and had started looking into it. It would suck but it would be better than trying to do something out in the open. She is an absolute master at finding information and quickly found a couple of options close enough that I could push the bike to. I thought that was going to be my most likely option. I could get it apart and evaluate while staying at the hotel. The parts could be left off and secure. I'd walk to NAPA, buy tools, some of which would have to be ordered so that would take some time. I could stay at the hotel. I figured I'd probably be stranded for at least a week. 

More people reached out. Options of having the bike trailered to Missoula or maybe even Billings were suggested. There would be more options. But finding someone to trailer it would likely be challenging and would certainly have to wait until Monday if not longer. 

Knowing nothing would happen for at least a couple of days, I went back to my room and aside from responding to people who were reaching out, I worked on a bug that had been preventing me from updating my planning map. 

It was 3:30 when I noticed Samantha had sent me a message at 3:15. 

"I found someone on BikerBunks and I just got through texting with him. He's waiting your call at 3:30. He says he has some space in a garage in Billings." 

"Garage? Billings? I'd have to get a tow but that might work." I thought.

I am always hesitant reaching out on the phone, but it was 3:30 so I called. It went to voicemail. 

More people reached out. More options but none clearly easily doable. It would probably be Monday before anything could be done.

The phone rang.

It was Mike the contact Samantha had found. 

He said he had a shop. 

"Shop?" I thought. 

He said he had most of the tools I would probably need. And if not, he was a member of a local Montana BMW riders group with 150 members several of which were local to Billings. He mentioned one, Scott, who had a serious shop and would probably be willing to help. 

"Tools?" I thought. 

He said had a bike lift I could use and that I'd have ample space in which to work. 

"Bike lift!?!?"

He then said he had a basement room with a separate shower and bathroom for this guests and that I would be welcome to stay. 

"Room!?!" 

He then, after we had talked for a bit, said he had 6 bikes and since I would be left to my own devices for a bit, I was welcome to borrow any one of them. 

"BIKES?!?"

And then he said ... 

"I have an enclosed trailer and my schedule is wide open, I could come and get you and the bike tomorrow morning. Let's say 10AM?"

"TRAILER!!!???!!!!!"

I could not believe this. 

"What do you charge?" I asked figuring I would need cash and wanted to make sure I had enough on hand. I didn't care what it would cost. 

"Oh. I just do this. There's no need to pay me anything." 

"What?" 

I know not what to say. 

Ummmm. "Ok. Thank you. What can I say? I have no words." 

"If you don't hear from me I'll be there at 10AM." 

So I got up promptly, had breakfast, and made an effort to have all of my stuff on the curb so there would be no delay. There was a DR rider who I got to talking to but I still had 10 minutes to get the last of my stuff when Mike rolled up 10 minutes early.

It's real. Samantha made this happen. I have no idea how she does this but she has such a gift. 

It's a crazy nice trailer with all the tie down points one could dream of and a motorcycle chock.  

It took mere minutes and we had the bike secured and ready to go. 

What's happening? How?  

Billlings was an hour drive from Red Lodge. There were many stories. It became clear very quickly he was deeply connected into the motorcycle world. He's owned many bikes. He's done a bunch of off road riding. But he also was more into the riding than into other aspects. Sometimes one just gets a sense of person. 

At one point he mentioned he had never ridden out East and had been watching videos of riding through the Smokey Mountains. 

"I have three bikes. You are welcome to come out and ride which ever one you want and I will be happy to guide you on a tour through the Smokey Mountains." 

It is very likely that this is going to happen. 

"That escalated quickly." 

So he mentioned his shop was 7 miles from his house so we went there before heading to his house. I was imagining a small rented garage and that there might be just enough room to squeeze in. 

I was not prepared.  

It's not just the one bay. 

IT"S BOTH OF THEM.

I walked in and just started laughing. This place is HUGE!!

He's got a line of bikes, a camper, his trailer, a side by side, and a spare truck in it with spare room after all that that is larger than my garage. 

Insanity! 

I said, "In your best Crocodile Dundee voice I can just hear you say, 'You call that a garage. Now THIS is a garage!"  

We had the bike rolled in and on the lift in minutes.  

"You're welcome to ride any of the bikes except the CT110 or the Suzuki. I suggest you ride the RT if you need to haul parts." 

Wait. What?

"Oh, and while you're here you've just got to try the Guzzi. It's so much fun." 

Or if you prefer you could ride the TW250, the DR650, or the R1200GS.  

"Or you could even take the side by side. Or cycle through all of the above."  

What? 

Earlier, I had started to feel a bit self conscious. I had forgotten there was a time when we had the R1100S up on the center stand and it would clunk when in gear. On that bike the swing arm hangs down far enough while on the center stand that it's a known and non-problematic behavior. I began to wonder if maybe I had jumped to a conclusion. 

But I know my bike and I know I used to be able to spin the rear wheel without any resistance. To compare we spun the rear on Mike's R1200RT and R1200GS which have similar albeit not identical drive trains. No binding. No resistance. 

The brake is dragging a big on my bike as the rotor is a bit warped but that is not the source of the resistance I was feeling. It it clunks which it did not used to do.

"That's what I feel it was like before this issue. I would love to get an additional set of eyes on this just to double check my thinking. But I think it has to come apart." 

Mike had called two members of his riding group the day before to let them know about my predicament. He tried calling Scott, the one with the extensive shop, but got voicemail. It turns out Scott was on a ride with his wife and stopped by the side of the road to call back.

"We can be at the shop in an hour."

What?

So during that time Mike took me to the house where I could drop my stuff off and we then went back to the shop before Scott and his wife arrived. 

"If I'm only 10 minutes early, I'm late." Mike said. 

Scott and his wife, whose name I can't remember, arrived shortly after. 

Scott is in the blue shirt. They had just gotten back from touring Japan. How cool is that? 

Scott thought as I did that it's likely a U-joint and said he has a friend with an extensive machine shop who could press in new u-joints if that ends up being the problem. He listed off a number of other options and said he had a shop full of parts should I need anything. 

I have no words.  

They left and I got to work. I thought Mike would go on about his day while I worked but instead he stayed and helped. I told him how much I hate wrenching alone. His company was so much appreciated. 

We had the exhaust, wheel, and final drive off in radically less time than I expected. 

I could find no fault with the drive shaft or u-joints. However, the shaft that goes into the final drive had what appeared to me to be significant play and if I tugged on it it would make the same clunking noise I heard when moving the tire back and forth. 

"Maybe it's not the drive shaft but instead the final drive." I said.

This would be disappointing because less than 20,000 miles ago as part of the big rebuild with Duncan, I had the final drive completely rebuilt. Steve over at Bob's does really good work and had upgraded some of the known weak points. It was expensive but worth it to have it done right. The final drives are known weak points. We'll see what it ends up being. 

I have some further tests to do tomorrow but at this point my suspicion is the final drive is the culprit. We'll see. 

Mike took me over to his house. It turns out Mike is a hunter and had gotten a deer so it was a venison dinner. He has a wood pellet grill. Dinner was delicious. (I had expected I'd be walking to a restaurant.)

Tomorrow we'll head back to the shop and I'll check the few additional things I've been asked to check and we'll see how to move forward from there. Mike suggested if there's down time we should go for a ride using his bikes. He wants to show me some local roads including an alternate near Beartooth. The photos seem beautiful.

What is this alternate timeline I'm suddenly living in? 

"Is the room ok?" he asked. 

This is the room.  

There's even a gym!  

I am at a loss. Of all the possible outcomes from what I was facing just 36 hours ago, if you had told me this would happen I would have said it was impossible. 

One way or another, I'll get the bike back on the road. It may mean getting a final drive which may prove to be challenging. I have to thank Bud for all his advice and help. 

There are so many people who reached out. 

I am humbled. Thank you, everyone. 

If you are one of the two or three people who may be paying attention to this space, finding time to write proper articles has proven challenging but I am updating the Travelogue and Photos tab (upper tab bar on this page) somewhat more regularly. 
I am currently in Astoria, OR on the Pacific coast. It's been a while.

The Beloved Blue Oil Burner seems to be running well. So far no hint of fuel leaks or issues with the drive train. These "BattleAx" tires are preforming surprisingly well, which I am pleased about. 

The plan from here is to slowly make my way down through California to San Diego. Then I'm not sure yet the route I'm going to take. I have stops planned in Moab, Denver, Los Alamos, Arizona, and several in Texas. 

Strangely, I've been able to make real progress on software development while on this trip and have been averaging a few hours every other day where I'm actually getting stuff done. I think so much more clearly when traveling than when I am at home.