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?"