Put my new unbusted grips on today. Had no clue that harley grips came in different diameters. I bought small. Not sure if I’ll like em or not. Huh… who knew.
Been watching some old route 66 travel videos I bought years ago. Getting ready to head to amarillo and back on a 4 day trip. Can’t wait. I’m gonna mozy, trip on every abandoned ghost town gas station and curio shop, eat at greasy spoons, and camp where I want to, when I want to. Hell, I might lie in the middle of the road, take some pictures just to get a new point of view.
I’ve missed riding. Man, its the only freedom I really know. Winter, eat a bag of hell.
My cruise thumbscrew fell out last year. I bought a new one the other day. Can’t wait for ghetto cruise control again. I can pick my nose, drink beer, pull my nuts away from my levis, and so much more with the little upside down asterisk that puts pressure on my throttle grip. It’s all fun and games till your willie G grips break, which mine did. Not from undue pressure mind you: Don’t judge me, you fucking fuck. I am careful with my bike, and I’m no bull in a china shop. I blame sun rot somehow. Thats right, sun rot. I ride my bike.
Tomorrow, I shall replace them. Which is honestly fine with me. New grips are like brand new socks right out of the package. they just feel good, and you end up looking good. Plus, the heat had boogered up the rubber on my grips.
I think willie G did great when he designed that skull. Yeah, its over done, but its for my viewing pleasure, and riding love, not for fashion. Much love to willie G.
I ride route 66 at least several times a year, but theres a lot of alignments of the old road. One I’ve always wanted to see was Yucca Arizona, which was route 66 from 1952-1978 or so when interstate 40 opened.
Ghost town feel here. I took these with my brother on december 29 and never put them on the blog.
Ill probably never go back here. Oatman is too irresistible to pass up and that whole road between topock and Kingman. Even so, glad I finally got to see Yucca.
Funny thing, it was a ride that before my bike blew I wouldn’t even consider a ride. I think tho, to alot of my friends who ride it woulda been a ride they’d considered big. Either way, It felt good to me.
Yesterday robyn and I headed out at 8 to go check out a house we’re thinking about renting. Great big house, for the same price as what we pay here. It may or may not happen.
Then, we rode to the dealership, grabbed 4 quarts of oil and a filter, then boogied off to our BACA chapter child ride for the month. Child ride seemed like a good stretch to finish my break in on my engine: some freeway, some highway, some around town. We did that, and I went home and changed my oil.
Loco showed up right after and we rode to the firehouse, then over the utah hill. Had a few beers at the dam bar with a few friends, then I headed south. Love my brothers, but damn…. I needed and still need some solo time in the saddle with my bike.
Old Highway 91, before 1-15
Man, I’m looking for something in life right now. I’m looking for some peace to be honest. I’m looking to find my way again, my inspiration. I need a muse. I know where it is: its sitting in my garage right now. I don’t know shit from shinola, but the last 20 years have taught me one thing: great answers come from long rides. Its been the reset button for my life. It’s better than any religion or baptism that I’ve ever known. It’s been true, and its been proven to me. I love the open road.
I’m gonna put 500 miles on this bike so I know I can trust this engine, then I’m heading the hell out of town for a real ride. I need one. No doubt, I’ll come back a new man.
Picked her up yesterday around 2:30. She feels faster. Engine sounds tight. Jerry did a good job. Rode around last night with a huge smile and the stereo full blast. Child ride this saturday, then I dump the oil. Can’t wait.
My bike is done. Waiting for the phone call to go pick it up. Man, I can’t hardly hold a thought in my head. All I can think about is riding her again.
I’m waiting any day now. my camera is ready, my bags are already packed, and my route is planned. I just don’t have my bike yet. Tomorrow? I hope? Friday? I honestly don’t know.
Maybe you don’t know what I’m talking about. Maybe touring is not your idea of a good ride. Thats cool. To me, it *IS* riding. Of an 15 hour a day, 3 day ride, this is what its like for me:
first 2 hours, are nothing but stress like any other day. wondering if I forgot anything, if I am gonna hit rain, if I’ve abandoned my family or if something is going wrong at work.
next 2 hours I realize that I’m actually heading somewhere. My senses come back. My feet are up on the foot pegs, and I swear to god theres a tiny hole in my boots where my problems and my life stresses are dripping out.
next 2 hours its dusk, and I’m getting excited. It’s still a friday or a thursday night. I’m feeling alive again. I start to notice the evening stars and The smells of the road. Music sounds better. Starting to feel alive again.
I hit my hotel room or pitch my tent, with a new point of view. Tomorrow, the world is fucking mine. MINE. I’m gonna see what there is too see, and my watch isn’t worth looking at because time has slowed down and doesn’t matter.
I wake up, with the cold air on my face, and the day at my feet. Every decision now is a good one: Do I eat at the local coffee shop, or quick mart? There are no wrong answers. everything is an experience now. I have all day. Tonight, I’ll be even further from home. Load the bike, and get on with it. Its all good.
I ride all day. I feel my wits and my senses come back. I know, worse case scenario that If I have to I can not show up to work till tuesday morning, or make 1k miles on a ride home. Maybe I’ll be back monday at noon. It’s not going to screw up today.
Toward saturday at around 4pm, I make more decisions about my day. I’ll live by them. I hit my camp by dusk, set my camp, drink a nip of scotch, call my wife and tell her my philosophy or description of my day. by this point, I’m a new man and I miss her and my kids. I’m looking foward to seeing her.
sunday morning, I head home. no matter how far away that is.
Cheap therapy for about 6 tanks of gas, a sleeping bag and a love of the open road. You tell me what else can do this, and I’ll kiss your ass. After 42 years of life, I haven’t found it.
