Days 2-4. Happy Independence Thingy!!!

So, I made it to Frederick MD, on Sunday, the 1st.

Stopped in at the Frederick Coffee Company and Cafe, and had a visit with Mary Ellen Mitchell. Lovely, and an excuse to wait for the most blistering of the midday heat to burn off before heading for Breezewood, which was an easy 90-minute drive away, after the inly slightly grueling run from the shore.

I'm still trying to get the hang of the GoPro Hero, but there should actually be some footage from this leg, though not when Ireally wanted it, crossing the Bay Bridge. I'll get better. I did a quick Google search, and the best price I got was at the Breezewood Budget Inn. It's aptly named. BUT - the only room available was the "accessible" room, so I got the biggest bathroom with an actual tub. That was nice. And then I asked for a wake up call at.sksksksksksk.........

Day 2: 6.a.m.
I hope I am going to learn to sleep past 6 a.m. at some point on this trip. But it wasn't to be, just yet. Up, though, and a quick jaunt to the Breezewood Bob Evans.... which really didn't on the inside, look like a Bob Evans at all, more like a sort of better-designed Cracker Barrel...

but the breakfast was the same decent quality I have come to expect from BE, excepting the strange almost not-quite-like-toast object that came out in response to my request for "rye." I guess I'm giving up grains early this trip.

But a chicken-fried steak later, and I was ready to go, pack up the trusty mount, and hit the road.

Riding out of Breezewood felt sooo familiar, as if I was going to Pennsic War early... and just as hot. Balls hot. Satan's nethers kind of hot. I was ready to hunker down for a looooong run to Maumee, OH. But somewhere along the climb to the Allegheny Mountain tunnel, things just kind of clicked, and a lot of the stress of preparing for the ride began to fall away. On the other side of the mountain, (I always forget this) the weather was completely different - clear, dryer, easily 5 degrees cooler, maybe more. Suddenly, I felt like I was riding, actually catching the "flow" or what Pirsig would call the "groove".

I started to really put down the miles, and the traffic wasn't too bad, and I made a straight run to the Ohio border,

stopping for gas and to hydrate at the first service stop across the border. This was my first mistake, but a beneficial one,a s it turned out: while I was inside ordering a drink and some chicken strips, a giant squall broke out - i panicked, because I hadn't put the rain covers on the luggage before coming in, and half the stuff on the bike is electronic, it feels. But when there was enough fo a break in the monsoon for me to go out and check, I dscovered that the Nelson Rigg bags were surprisingly rain-resistant, and the contents were all mostly dry. (this would prove later, not to be as true as i hoped, abut that's for later. I ventured back out, after radar showed the bulk of the storm system had passed, and I realized how lucky I was that i had not been on the road when it hit - I might have drowned before I made it to any overpass to get covered up and in safe "wet" riding gear. As I struck out through Ohio, the best feeling yet overcame me, and even though Ohio is still the most boring place in the world that I personally have driven, the wake of the storm left a sweet smell in the air, and the air much drier and cooler than it had been - it was, honestly, perfect riding weather, and really for the very first time, i felt that I remembered why I had had this whole stupid idea.

Here: I took a picture of Ohio for you. This is what ALL of it looks like

Two thirds of Ohio passed as though it was a jaunt to the grocery around the corner, and I found myself pulling into the familiar parking lot of the Maumee, Ohio Motel Six.

So, all I had to do was hope that the young man with whom I struck up the conversation about the election a year and some months ago was still working here, was on this shift, and remembered who the Eff I was.

Alas, first hitch in my plan to open a national conversation: Tariq (probably not his real name) no longer worked here. (I mean, in retrospect, it was a stupid idea: what are the odds that a perfectly intelligent young immigrant with a green card and great language skills was still going to be working in  Motel 6 more than a year later...?) But anyway, I was safe, dry, (-ish) and I was in a bedroom with air conditioning.

Note to self: try to get rooms with outdoor exits that are very close to  the bike. Because, you don't want to be dragging when you finally get the luggage all moved back out to where the bike is actually parked. Wait, I should write something tonight, and organize photos andsksksksksksksks....

6 a.m.

Up. I know exactly where Bob Evans is , because this is where Bonnie first introduced me to the moral superiority of the Bob Evans Chicken Fried Steak (sorry, Waffle House, not this time, either...)

So breakfast in the Bob Evans across the street, with Lauren, the lovely waitress who is FASCINATED by what I am doing, and winds up in a long-ish conversation with me.

I wonder how this whole "Border Scrambler" thing is playing in the current political climate, or am I the only one?

Chicken Fried Steak is the order of the days....

 I'm going to Chicago? Lauren's daughter is taking classes in Chicago, for computer animation, and we have a bit of a chat about how hard to was for Lauren to accept that this is what her girl wants to do. but how she is keeping an open mind, and she thinks her girl is going to do anything she sets her mind to, and I'm not sure but but I caught a sense that she thinks that her daughter may be gay, and she loves her all the more - but if she is by-God going to move to L.A., she'd better understand that she is taking Lauren with her, because Lauren wouldn't mind getting out of Maumee, too.

Holy Toledo.

Now, I am just starting to establish a rhythm - wake - basic ablutions, breakfast, taking the un-laden bike, and then gassing it up and doing tire rituals sans luggage so that I don't have to mess with the bags around the pumps. Then I go back to the motel, and load the bike up. Now - this is where I think I screwed up:

When I went back to the Motel 6, there was no one parked in any of the handicapped spaces, which are the only ones in the front right by the door. What many of you may not know is that I HAVE a handicapped (or "accessible" - I don't know what the PC term is these days, and it's describing me) placard - I got it for my knees and will probably keep renewing it until the other knee is replaced. I don't use it often, anymore, (except to park at school) but it comes in handy on "bad knee" days, or at times like this - when I have a ton of heavy luggage to carry from a room at a motel with no carts. So, when I returned from breakfast, and there was no one parked in any of the spaces out front - I parked the bike in one. This, I will always feel, fairly or unfairly, is what drew down the dreaded Joseph's Vehicle Karma (tm), dormant for so long, on my head. I went in to start carrying out the luggage, and came out with the saddlebags first - threw them over the back of the bike, and started to bend down to seat them properly, when I realized that a) one of the small straps on the far bag had snagged on the bike frame, and b) the forward momentum I had given the bag had thus all been imparted to the bike, which was leaning AWAY from me and the side stand on which it had been leaning at a gathering rate...

It was already too far gone for me to try and catch it, certainly without hurting my self, so all I could do was try and ease its fall. So... Happy Monday: my bike is lying on the ground, and there is no sign of anyone around.

Just then out the door comes running this woman, yelling "Are you all right? I saw what happened... do you need me to go get help?" Grateful for her offering I said, "yes, please go get anyone you can find inside, there were just some men out here smoking..." She said, "They won't come: they hate me." Not in the mood to question her perception of her own social status in the Motel 6 hierarchy, I just started to try and lift the bike myself, worried because a motorcycle left lying on its side can go from bad to worse. The next thing I know, the woman is next to me, grunting and giving it her all. Now, I know how to pick up a motorcycle - I've had to do it and even practiced in in demos - but it involves getting down on the ground and basically standing up into the seat of the bike - and now my OLD knee is not up to the task of getting that low and still lifting. So I am trying to do it the old-fashioned, stupid way, which is by just trying to lever a 600-pound bike up using the frame and bars alone. But the assistance of this woman was juuuust enough extra "umph" that between the two of us, we got it stood up. We stood there, together, panting a little bit, and wouldn't you know it, the two men I had seen before came out the doors, eagerly offering to "help." I turned to the woman they supposedly "hated" and asked her name. "Teddy - like the bear" she said. "Thank you, Teddy, I couldn't have done that without you." "You're welcome, dear - just pay it forward," Teddy said.

Now, Teddy bears some signs of a life hard-lived that I recognize from my mother and from my own time around people with substance issues. If I had to guess, I would say that Teddy's drug of choice is alcohol, and that Teddy might just live at the Motel 6, possibly, based on some of the conversations I heard, by working to earn her keep. But the fact that Teddy was the only person who rushed out of that building to help me when it was clear that a number of other people heard what happened is not lost on me - so I will be looking to pay it forward. If the manager at the desk ever returns my call inquiring about whether Teddy needs someone to pay for a night of her stay, I hope she won't mind too much if I pay it backwards, too.

So, the bike is pretty banged up from falling - but the most important thing is that the brake lever has broken. The cosmetic damage is one thing - and I am still debating whether or not to report it to insurance - but I figure that I should get the bake lever looked at. Fortunately, I am supposed to have an appointment with the Honda dealership in Chicago, and maybe they will HOLY S___, what time is it - I have lost all sense of time, now that the bike is finally loaded up again, and ready to go. i have two things on the agenda today - stop at Notre Dame and light candles, and male to to the DuPage motorcycle dealership by three p.m. Okay - this should still work. Off I go.

But there's a detour, and yesterday's beautiful weather has turned decidedly... sultry? I mean, it's gross. I have to stop to hydrate. (at the Ernie Pyle rest stop in Indiana - the "best in roadside repast" - I remember this from when I was in college at ND - but boy, how it has changed...)

Here I realize that I am not making great time, and I am going to ask them to do an extra thing - better call ahead. Yes, maybe they have a suitable part in stock, but will I still make my 3 pm appointment? I look at the time, and say "Yes." and shove off, with renewed determination. As I draw abreast of South Bend, IN, where I should begetting off to light candles at the Grotto and see my old dear friend Lorri, who just had Carpal Tunnel Syndrome surgery, I check the ETA on Waze - 2:58 for a 3 p.m. appointment. I sigh, and cave to inevitability - I am not going to be able to stop in South bend this trip, which is a little bit if a failure. I buck up and soldier on, until... as I look down and Waze is instructing me to take a different path than I expected, half an hour past South Bend... and I notice that my ETA has changed...

To 1:58.

Because I am an idiot. Neither I, nor, apparently, Waze, has taken the time change into account, until it is too late for it to matter - at this point, to turn around and try to go back to South Bend will leave me without enough time to retrace my steps.

I get to the shop, they are all great - I got a pic of the service manager.

As "bike people" they are all fascinated by what I am doing - some envious, some incredulous. Chris Murphy has met me at the dealership

Sane people would choose the bike nearest the photographer for an adventure like mine. I.... didn't.

- we go to have a cool drink and an appetizer while they install my new tires and valves, and replace the broken brake lever with one they have stolen from another bike on the showroom floor. Great guys, all, they seem.

From the dealership, Chris leads me to his home in Chicago,

where we relax after getting the luggage up the two stories of their apartment house. I am safe with Chris, my oldest friend, and his new bride Elspeth (who swears she enjoys it when I call her that.)


Today is July Fourth, and I am going to give us all a break by doing laundry, charging and repairing things, rethinking my pack, and just being with my dear friends whom I haven't seen in too long. I hope everyone has a safe, quiet, and reflective Independence Day.

Blast off.

So, first, there was the trip to the beach, because if I say it's a "Ride Across America" I want it to be Across. America.

I left St. Mary's only about three hours late, after a feverish final day of packing, loading, repacking reloading forgetting things, rinse, repeat. I only recently found out that all the young women who live in the main house would be gone, about the same time as I was leaving, and so it seemed a good idea to try and round up some local folk to check on the house while I was away.

Except, I don't really know many people there... but now my neighbor Karen is totes on board with walking her dogs around the property every day, and reporting to the landlord if anything looks amiss. Thanks, Karen!

so now, you have seen the pictures of the bike in "full on pack" mode. The tail pack and the saddlebags were only recent acquisitions, after I was certain of which bike I was riding - so there was not a lot of time to practice, well... getting on and off. Getting off isn't really that hard (see what i did there?) but getting on....

Well, the best description I have come up with is akin to my description of my first venturings, years ago, on a moped... but less complimentary. Think of the hippos from Fantasia - if they all skipped Intermediate Ballet. Nonetheless, it gets a tiny bit easier, each time, and I have learned to stretch before trying to embark. There is video. Thanks, Bonnie. No, really....

The trip to the shore was uneventful. I say that as someone who has simply done the trip so many times that any trip that doesn't involve an electrical failure, a hurricane, dead relatives, or a war between rival household factions simply doesn't really count. It was hot, it was less long than i toculd have been, and the air conditioning at the motel was working. Fran, the clerk who was there at the SandCastle when Bonnie and I last visited was there on the night shift. Somehow we both forgot to mention and ask about the denouement of the Naked Guy in Pickup Situation from our last stay. See, this one, not so memorable.

All through this sojourn, I have been getting little signs from T - that have helped me know that i am on some not horrible path with this whole venture. Even though I was late, I got there much earlier than Bonnie, who had the bad fortune to have to work a half day. So I had some time to kill. I have decided that my presence on social media, as far as the outside world is concerned, will primarily be "checking in" - something I hardly ever do, ordinarily, but which I hope will continue to drum up support now that I am on the road. No sooner had I checked in at the beach than Deb Randall, Artistic Director of Venus Theatre and one of Tricia's true sister warriors, responded, "Alan's playing there, Today... no, wait - RIGHT NOW!"

Now I have met Alan, her husband, many times, but I have never, ever, seen one of his live shows - he is a very gifted musician, and I have kept "meaning" to catch a show... so the fact that i should finally DO it on the very first "Prep-day" of this is what I call an omen.

PS: The Alan Scott Band FUCKING SHREDS. Their cover of All along the watchtower almost had me up out of the first chair I had sat in in seven hours, after riding 6. And I got an Alan Scott selfie. So: FTW.

Bonnie, poor thing, made it down, and we hit Dogfish Head (or, the industrial compound formerly known as Dogfish Head - change is Hard) for a great dinner. back to the Sand Castle, and to bed, because: tired.

Saturday, we went to Arena's - my Coffee Shop away from home, for breakfast, and then drove down to Bethany to visit with Mary Clark, who had never met Bonnie. We had a lovely visit, right up to the point where they started referring to me in the third person and comparing notes, and then, Look! It was time for us to leave if we were going to make dinner... I forgot to get a pic of all of us together (with Mar's dog, Willy, who barked a lot at first, but then either remembered me or decided I didn't look appetizing and settled for scritches) But i did get a picture of this strange little memento someone had left on Mar's car downstairs...

Dinner at Nalu, the Hawaiian place I keep meaning to go to, which was both awesome and reasonable - oops - Bonnie - we left the leftovers in the fridge at the Sand Castle. Well, maybe it will seem like we aded to the tip. Back to the room, AFTER ice cream on the Avenue and a little time watching the Real Diamond Band at the bandstand - yes, it was a Neil Diamond tribute band, and I have to say, they were great - if you judge that by how like Neil Diamond they were. We stayed for Cracklin Rosie, and a couple other great oldies, not all them Diamond covers, but were tired, and so didn't hold out for Sweet Caroline, which was, I'm sure the encore to end all encores, for a certain kind of crowd favoring septagenarianism.

Bonnie mostly slept, while I cranked out the previous blog post, which sucked rockets, but it had been too long since I posted, and I wanted to talk about the n=bike dillemma, because it has really been the defining "thing" of the last few weeks, but I was too tired to be writing, especially when i was meant to be refining the "pack."

Nonetheless, I bet some of you read it, and no one has yet had the chutzpah to say "That was crap. Do better. You got our hopes up." ;-)

Feel Free. I won't be hurt.

So this a.m. we rose, and thanks entirely to Bonnie's gentle ministrations, I actually left the beach. I swear I think I was whining like a two year-old: "I can't, I'm skeered, it's too hard...." But we winnowed down the "pack" some - one piece of luggage has already bit the dust, and individual items to the tune of what i estimate to be 12 pounds or so.

I made it on the bike again, and we went to the end of Rehoboth Avenue, in sight of the Atlantic Ocean, and declared these Olympic Games of the 64th Olympiad Op - no, wait, we just said, "Okay, it's on. Get going. " And I left.

You can actually see the ocean in the background. "From Sea to Shining Sea." If I don't Die.

Oh, yeah - and BACK. 'Cause I'm an idiot.

We met up, one final time, at the Southern Grille in Ellendale DE, where we had been once before, and had a last breakfast together. If i ever have to chose a last meal - I'm serious, this place is in the running. I understand there is a "unscripted TV" show called something like Dives Diners, and Something - if they haven't covered the Southern, they are Not Even Legit. I take my Scrapple AND my sausage gravy very seriously, and these may be the best I've had. Go. Seriously.

That dessert case might as well be full of crack. Seriously.

The we really said our goodbyes, and Bonnie obligingly took video of me getting on the bike. in case she ever has to blackmail me. And I was off.

I slowed down only through Greenwod, DE, because Greenwood has always been a touchstone for me. But I'll talk about that in the next post.

Also - the GoPro is being a huge PITA, and so I don't have some of the video I hoped to have by now - going over the Bay Bridge on a cycle, what's it like to pass a Tesla like it's standing still, and more. I'll get it sorted, and I'll do the beachward video at the end instead of at the beginning is all.

For now, my body temp is almost back down under triple digits, and tonight's goal is Breezewood PA. So, ciao for now! Rubber Side Down.

More tonight.

Dance with who brung ya'.... Part 1

30 June 2018
11:40 p.m.


I've gone quiet, now for almost three weeks. Sorry about that. It's just that... well, there's been a lot. Some of it you'll hear about here - some of it later. And some of it, you don't need to know about.

I'm going to start with the history of my motorcycle career, because people who know me probably don't know how improbable I am in the motorcycling world. I'm tall-ish - but largely square in proportion, heavy, loud, and I have a shaved head. If you were to ask most people what I ride, I am guessing anyone who saw but didn't know me would guess "Harley. Some kind of Harley..." And yet....

The first two-wheeled, motorized thing I rode was This:

Not that exact one. or even model, but it was foreign, gold, and I looked a like walrus trying to do something unseemly to an otter. But it got me around that summer, and when I went back to Notre Dame, I was hooked. So, instead of a car, i spent my senior year of undergrad on...

And when I got home, the sickness grew...

Until finally, since I had to get my motorcycle endorsement anyway, I took all the hard-earned money Source was just throwing at me, and...

The 1981 Kawasaki GPZ550 was the very first real "sportbike" sold in America, as denoted by the cute little fairing on the front - the motor was also slightly tuned up from the stock KZ550, and it had better shocks and suspension up front. I didn't know how to shift, at all - I learned on a  scooter, remember, ... so my mother dropped me off with my checkbook and helmet in Mt. Airy MD, and said, "good luck." I made it back to DC alive, and that was the beginning of the end. This bike saw me through my first two years out of school, and accompanied me to NCSA - the "garage" side of the graduate studio, affectionately known as the "Grad Pad" in those days (it's still there - I checked it out when I was there for Faith Love's wedding in Fall of '17) was occupied by a couple of mattresses, Mark Minnick's (sp?) old Ford Maverick, and my GPZ, which gave me some respite from the constant drafting and the incessant, loud show tunes we needed to keep ourselves awake. It fonally succumbed to age, abuse, and my ministrations sometime in the '80's, when I was living in Veronica's Home for Boys and Others, and when my dad died, I seemed to gravitate towards the covered winter solace of a car; the GPZ went into Mom's back yard, from whence it was sold to an avid high schooler and his dad, and I went looking for my next joy/rocket.

I found it in the guise of this monstrosity, dubbed the "Suzuki Valdez by my friend Neil, due to an unfortunate incident with the petcock and the fuel tank. Nothing blew up, but this one was... not a good fit. ;-) But the following year, I would buy one of only two "new" motorcycles I would ever own...


So, it was time, in 1993, to get a real motorcycle, something reliable that I could depend on to get me from Point A to Point B.

I got this instead.

Ignore the Suzuki; if you do so, you start to see a trend... this bike was amazing, and got me through snow, and ice, and many tickets, and was the best vehicle, except for one little car, that i drove the whole time i was at Round House Theatre, but Jane Beard wanted me in a car after my mother died, and so this got set aside, and stayed for a while in Veronica's garage (shed, really) until I could get it a little TLC, and then, instead of riding it myself, I turned around and sold it, in fine theatrical tradition, to another theatre tech type, David Humke. Who almost died on it within a couple of months, but that's another story. Whatever its failings, the Suzuki Katana had a great motor, decent handling, and it looked like a real sport bike. The die had been cast. Keep watching.... with the money I got from Dave, and some little savings I had, I went looking for the next step up in sporting hardware. I really wasn't sure what I wanted; I even borrowed a friend's cruiser for a couple of weeks, but an unfortunate rabbit incident convinced me I belonged on more agile machinery. And then I found this:

In 2005, I bought my first Honda VFR800 Interceptor. I have ridden a lot of bikes, now, friends', and loaners, and rentals, even: no bike has ever come close to being a more balanced all-around cycle for me. And I just think it's beautiful. A little obscure in the age of full-bore, balls to the wall hypersport bikes, the 5th Generation interceptor is recognized by aficianados as a bike apart. But all good things...

Must come to rest against a curb, engine still running, the van that ran into the rider pulled over ot he side of the road, "Watch for Motorcycles" bumper sticker only slightly abraded where my boot caught it as I went under the van. Miraculously, I walked away with a broken thumb; but the bike was totaled by the insurance company (of the other driver - they were at fault, and were great about not only admitting it but helping me up , and home, and we even bonded a little. But that's, as you will hear often on this journey, another story. (If any one following along is eager to hear any of the "other stories" - like how I kicked the shit out of a deer on a motorcycle, or that time with the bomb and the gun and the CIA headquarters, just let me know, and I will try to get to them while we travel together. But it seems to me we have a more focused purpose here, on this journey than Uncle Joe's Treasure Trove of Improbable Life Events,... so anyway:

I need a bike. I have been living without a car, at the time of the accident, for over two years, and am loving it, but my primary transportation just got taken out. And with the insuranc emoney on my wrecked bike, I didn't know what i could get... but thanks to knowing my mechanic, I could get this:

Suffice it say that the sportbike flames were only getting fanned. Lok, it's getting too long, so I am going to skip the time the old lady ran over the interceptor, or the time the Hood College student ran over both of my bikes - the Interceptor AND the SuperHawk shown above, and skip ahead to the second time in my life I have ever bought a "new" bike - actually a 2014 Interceptor that I bought new in 2016. She's a beaut:

When I bought her, I had actually been going in to look at a used ST1300 - a bigger, slightly less sporty, slightly more "touring" oriented bike. But i just couldn't. It didn't excite me, I didn't "love" it. And even when it is your daily commuter, a motorcycle should always excite you, and put you more in the moment. So I got this instead. Less than six months later, however, I was in a relationship with Bonnie, about to get my knee replaced, and starting to contemplate the journey that begins, in earnest, in less than nine hours. so, a few months ago, I started hunting around for an ST1300 again - great bike, Honda reliability, and a pillion seat that wouldn't make Bonnie feel like and afterthought. I found this...

and even this...:

For about a week, it looked like I would be able to actually convert the laon on my Interceptor into an almost identical loan for this ST1300, and I was really excited about it - Bonnie sat on it, and I may never get her on another bike; it came with hard luggage  (including a top case "trunk" that would be great... but it was not to be. Honda would not consider financing a bike of this age ( it was a 2007)

I had had a greta rainign ride with some of my fellow riders (see that post) and I was pretty resigned to just riding the VFR800 (Interceptor) - after all I was used to it, and it seemd like it was in the best shape to take on all that distance... and then i found this:

Yes - a BMW. It had (has) very high miles, but has been so well-maintained and meticulously recorded, I instantly didn't care. This was hard one.... but at this point, the ride was week away, and i decided that the idea of breaking in a new bike as well as all the equipment I was still learning (and in some cases, awaiting to arrive) didn't make sense.

But would I be able to pack everything I needed (or thought, in my feverish brain, I needed) onto a sportbike? because, it was a LOT.

Sure, how much can that really be....

Well, for scale:

Alright, Loves, I'm typing this from a Rehoboth Beach motel room; Bonnie is keeping quietly in the bed, while I hammer out the last of this. Don't be dicks to each other, let me know that you are listening, and let's go have an adventure!!!

Tomorrow, this all becomes very real. 

Training day.

Ride Across America update. A little more than three weeks to go. Yesterday was my first training day. Special thanks to Steve Chadwick and Michael Patterson who shared it with me.



Started in St. Mary’s at 11:30 after a morning meeting; Steve met me and we rode to Lexington Park for coffee. Then we headed for Damascus, Md, to meet Mike for lunch; the goal was 230-3pm, the reality was 4pm. (Sorry, Mike!)
Together, we all headed up for Westminster, to O’Lordan’s pub, and then had the only really fun, scenic, and open road stretch of the day coming back down 31 to Frederick. Said goodbye to Steve, and then waved goodbye to Mike at 118 and 270.



Leaving me to solo from Gaithersburg back to St. Mary’s and my bed, at 10:30-ish, just in time to see the Caps take back the lead. Woot!



292.9 miles, just shy of my goal of 300, but:
A solid 9 out of 11 hours on the road spent actually riding (god, the traffic!) Which is more than almost any day I have planned, on the actual trip... And generally, I feel fine!

Lessons learned:
The Purple seat pad I borrowed for part if the ride from Steve is Magic. I’ve ordered one already.

My iPhone needs a new battery, anyway, but I need to take a serious power backup on the road. Looking st the Rugged Geek model; recommendations welcome.

Also, have to wire up my accessory harness.

I had been thinking of trying to get a different bike; something cushier than my 2014 Interceptor. I don’t think I’m going to. Some minor mods to the Interceptor are in order, like bar risers and maybe road pegs, if I can find them. But the bike simply handles great, and I just wasn’t that sore at the end of quite a long day, and the ignition mapping will be useful for grossing the mountains. I’m glad, because now I can start seriously outfitting the cycle for the trip.

Tomorrow’s trip is up to Honda Powersports of Crofton, to look for luggage and to schedule the shop visit for All The Things: new tires and chain, fluids, etc.

UPDATE: wound up going to Coleman Powersports in VA, because it’s close to Bonnie; and guess what was just sitting there, where I hadn’t thought to look...


This is THE bike I’ve been searching craigslist and the Interwebz for for months. 2007 ST1300, with PGM-FI, and ROAD PEGS custom-cut into the engine sliders.

The test ride’s tomorrow. Stay tuned....

Second City. Second Wind. Windy City. Cities of the Plains.. Okay, I'll Stop. Especially since it's really the Third Leg... Oh, well.

When last we left our intrepid route, I was waking up in Maumee after a night of deep intellectual conversation, a sharing of values and exploration of mores with Tariq (may not be his real name) the night clerk I met on my last sojourn through the by way of Maumee, OH.

The next morning, I will strike out for Chicago, after making an obligatory stop in South Bend IN, to visit the campus of Notre Dame. The University has become a pretty obligatory stop on any road trip to the midwest, not only because it is my undergraduate alma mater but because it has figured in a series of trips westward that have, over time, built to this one.

For one thing, I still have friends there: my dear friend Lorri Wright still lives in the Bend with her partner Erik; I hope I might have a chance to stop by and see at least one of them for lunch as I pass through.

But the University itself is always my main target when I stop in SB - I like going back to see how the campus has changed, and to rekindle the memory, at least, of the bygone days when it was the cradle of nascent avocation, and eventually career - theatre. It is also the home of what became my biggest involvement besides theatre during those days, and shaped my feelings about much of what is happening around us - I was on the staff of the independent student newspaper, The Observer, for three of my four years.

In fact, it was The Observer, rather than theatre, that drew me back the last two times I went to campus - first in 2010, on what I called the Quest for Shirleyfest, and again just last year, in 2017, when I went out for the 50th anniversary of the founding of the Observer. (I think we will be noticing a LOT of 50th's" over the next few years - not for nothing have I made the comparison between today and the turmoil of the 60's....)

The last trip was supposed to be a motorcycle trip as well, but the gods of knee replacement surgery didn't see it that way - so I wound up driving the Element of Surprise out for the 1200-mile round trip. But back in 2010... well, that's where the idea for this trip was born.

The last (and first) long-distance motorcycle trip I made was the trip to South bend for "ShirleyFest" in 2010. Shirley. Shirley was the lone "grownup" (i.e., non-student) who worked in the Observer offices, and she was a combination office manager, den mother, and consigliere for the staff of - I really don't know how big the staff was, but it ran from hard cases like myself who tended to live in the offices (whenever I wasn't in rehearsal) to the occasional stringer who would file a story once every few weeks. Shirley arrived in south bend the same month i ddi, and thirty years later, we all went out to celebrate her and her retirement.

In a fit of "me-ness" - I decided that this trip would be not only fun, but a perfect excuse to wring out my relatively newly found motorcycling touring chops. I had been camping off the bike for about 4 years, and having a grand time, but I had never put this kind of distance on it. Especially since, in 2009, when my first Interceptor was "totaled" in an accident, I had to replace it for a time,with a Honda 996 SuperHawk, the Japanese equivalent of a Ducati (i.e., light fast, ridiculous torque but actually reliable...) Even more so than the Interceptor, the SuperHawk was NOT built for long distance, but mine just happened to have been previously owned by someone who thought that was no reason not to try, and so it had "Heli-bars"to raise the handlebars to a more relaxed position, , a custom seat, more forward pegs, and a luggage system that was intended to make it more into a "sport touring" bike than the track beast it really was.

On that trip visited Notre Dame, caught up with old newspaper colleagues and friends, saw my friend Lorri, visited for a day in Chicago's suburbs with my old friend Catherine, who was a 1L when I was a junior, and tried to see my friend Aly on the way home.  I made South Bend from Frederick MD in a straight, nine-hour shot (there are some advantages to being on a modified race bike, even on the toll road ;-) almost drowned in rain on the way into Chicago (8 years ago, Chris and Elspeth didn't lve there yet, so I had fewer options for shelter) and then, very nearly died of exposure riding home through the mountains from Morgantown, as the temps dropped into the twenties literally two days before May. Then, everything changed: I blew out my first knee at work a few days later, Jamie died a couple of weeks after that, and well, it's been a bit of a whirlwind ever since then...

In Jamie's eulogy I mentioned the trip - and I relaized, going back to find the words, that i am finally fulfilling a promise I made then (and then some, I suppose) - I am making another long-distance trip, and besides my friend Tricia's spirit, I suppose, I really do carry my brother's with me:

"He covered, in his brief life, more of this country than many do in much longer lifetimes, and did most of it by car. Out west, down south, the Northeast - sometimes a call would come beforehand - "I'll be out of town" -  and sometimes I would find out only afterwards where he had been, when he dropped in on a mutual friend. Sometimes the goal was a life event of a friend, sometimes a concert (that Springsteen thing, again...) sometimes the goal was not the destination, I think, but the drive. It was his constant wanderlust that inspired my recent 1600-mile motorcycle trip through the midwest,  and I hope now that I will make many more such trips, and I know his spirit will ride with me.

The last thing I did at Notre Dame on this recent trip, on a grey, rainy day, was go to the Grotto of Our Lady of Lourdes, and it was my brother's faith, not my own that prompted me to light a candle for him there - and then as I prayed, some dozens more. I went through all the cash I had on me, as I counted the blessings of friends and family he and I are blessed with, and ran out of dry candles long before I was nearly done."

And so, I will stop again, at Notre Dame, and light candles. I will light them for those who have gone before, and those who come behind. And I hope you don't mind, but one of them will be for all of you.

Here are some pictures from that first touring trip; the reception at Shirley's bash:

Below: Margaret Fosmoe, Left is now an editor with the South Bend Tribune; on the other side of Shirley is my Assistant Features Editor, Sarah McGill, to whomI turned over the department when I graduated. I was surprised at how good it felt to hear someone say I gave them their first job.

Joseph's very first Scene shop, in O'Laughlin Auditorium on the campus of St. Mary's College:

More to come.....

S___ Gets Real.

It's June 1st.

One month until I head West from Ocean City MD, and commence a trip of... well, I don't know how long, really: although I have established my rough Itinerary, I haven't actually added up the whole distance in a single Google Route yet. I'll do that soon, both so you can follow along, but also so someone will know where to look if I suddenly disappear and am never heard from again. Like this woman: missing-hiker-geraldine-largay-appalachian-trail-maine

It. Is. Real. Now.

I have lots of conflicting feelings and thoughts. They range from uncontrollable excitement, to a genuine fear that I may be biting off more than I can chew. In my experience, when I am torn between these feelings, something important is about to happen, so I think  am on the right track.

On the one hand, this will be the longest I have ever taken for a vacation in my life. On the other hand, predictably, I have gone out of my way to make sure it feels as little like a vacation as possible: I am charging other people for the privilege of tagging along, I have linked that to a charity I feel very strongly about, and I am undertaking to hold myself responsible for the trip being interesting enough that it will be worth sharing.

But still: I get to ride across America on a motorcycle! How effing cool is that??!!!*

So, June 1st: I said I would start reading ZATAOMM again, and that you could read along, too, if you wish. I have chosen to, besides carrying along the dogeared copy Tricia gave me, just before her passing, (along with the "for J-O-E-X" Post-it that will always elicit a soft welling of tears) also downloaded the e-reader version, and the audio tape, so that I can listen/read without interruption. They are available here:

ZATAOMM Audiobook

For Sale on Amazon

I listened to the first two chapters, traveling from St. Mary's to Gunston Theatre 2 for a preview, and then read them late tonight. Two things blew me away: the language feels less dated than it did to an even slightly younger me (I'm getting old - not such a shock). But what really knocked me down was how specifically relevant the first chapters felt to the moment we are living now. Fifty years on, it's as though we have completed a navigation of a great and arduous trek, only to slump, finally, on a log to rest - and then found a sock we've been missing for months now, or the remains of our first campfire. It feels as if we have been walking for weeks, and yet, find ourselves right back where we started. I'll address this more later.

First, I want to share this passage from early in Chapter 1, because it defines (and has, for some time, for me) why I am doing this particularly arduous journey the way I am:

“You see things vacationing on a motorcycle in a way that is completely different from any other. In a car you’re always in a compartment, and because you’re used to it you don’t realize that through that car window everything you see is just more TV. You’re a passive observer and it is all moving by you boringly in a frame.

"On a cycle the frame is gone. You’re completely in contact with it all. You’re in the scene, not just watching it anymore, and the sense of presence is overwhelming. That concrete whizzing by five inches below your foot is the real thing, the same stuff you walk on, it’s right there, so blurred you can’t focus on it, yet you can put your foot down and touch it anytime, and the whole thing, the whole experience, is never removed from immediate consciousness.”

Excerpt From: Robert M. Pirsig. “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” iBooks. https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/zen-and-the-art-of-motorcycle-maintenance/id360625670?mt=11

This is the crux of motorcycling: The Presence. It's always annoyed me that operating a car is called "driving" and operating a cycle is called "riding" - because one is more active and one is more passive, and the relationships in reality are reversed. Though, the relationship between a cycle and good rider is much more akin to the relationship between a rider and a horse, so in that sense, at least, the word “riding” is accurate. Cars, more and more, are designed to insulate us from the experience of Going. They are, specifically, designed to mimic the artificial interior spaces between which we travel. The atmosphere, the comfort, the silence, the music, the entertainment, hell, even the CLIMATE.

On a bike, it's all there, the air, the smells, the wind (the bugs) but especially - the smells. The way the you can smell the spring water as you cross a creek as the temperature dips just a few degrees; the way you know what the local cattle have been fed by the smell of the fields they have fertilized; the way you know miles away that a bakery is coming up in the next town.

In this chapter, and the next, Pirsig and his companions have just headed out of Minneapolis, and are looking for the best "secondary" route to wherever in Montana (that's as specific as he gets). There is a lovely discourse on the value of secondary roads - I will be spending as much time as I can on them, but many of the routes he traveled have been built up, in the intervening 50 years, and my timetable dictates more Interstates than I would like.

Oh, one more thing that should be mentioned, as little serendipities have been dogging this journey from the get-go: the audio narrator for the Audible Audiobook I downloaded?

Michael Kramer.

Yes, I know him...

Here is the passage that most resonated with me, as I drove to rehearsal and Michael's voice articulated the syntax for me:

“...They don’t want to get into it.

"If this is so, they are not alone. There is no question that they have been following their natural feelings in this and not trying to imitate anyone. But many others are also following their natural feelings and not trying to imitate anyone and the natural feelings of very many people are similar on this matter; so that when you look at them collectively, as journalists do, you get the illusion of a mass movement, an antitechnological mass movement, an entire political antitechnological left emerging, looming up from apparently nowhere, saying, “Stop the technology. Have it somewhere else. Don’t have it here.” It is still restrained by a thin web of logic that points out that without the factories there are no jobs or standard of living. But there are human forces stronger than logic. There always have been, and if they become strong enough in their hatred of technology that web can break.

"Clichés and stereotypes such as “beatnik” or “hippie” have been invented for the antitechnologists, the antisystem people, and will continue to be. But one does not convert individuals into mass people with the simple coining of a mass people with the simple coining of a mass term. [... ] It is against being a mass person that they seem to be revolting. And they feel that technology has got a lot to do with the forces that are trying to turn them into mass people and they don’t like it. So far it’s still mostly a passive resistance, flights into the rural areas when they are possible and things like that, but it doesn’t always have to be this passive”

Excerpt from ZATAOMM, Robert M. Pirsig

Substitute the terms "liberal elite" or "Trumpster" for "hippie"or "beatnik" and you get a sense of why I think this is going to be so resonant. For someone born in 1962, just old enough to remember Nixon, Watergate, Vietnam, the civil rights movement, (I was six when MLK was shot and Washington burned - and I grew up with the aftermath of our continuously failed Reconstruction) and the current morass/mores seems like "deja vu all over again."

Civil rights marches, women trying to liberate themselves from the patriarchy, foreign wars dragging on beyond hope or solution, energy crises: sound familiar? One could be forgiven for wondering if we actually lived the last five decades, or if we only dreamt them, before some cruel dungeon master hit the reset button while we slept. One of the few clues that we are somewhere further on is that we actually elected an African American man  (who was running against a viable woman candidate in the primary) as President.

Oh, and that he didn't get shot.

So, much of what I hope to accomplish, and perhaps ignite in my few readers, is a sense of combining genuine critical thinking with genuine empathy, for the people we meet along the way.

More tomorrow.

*A note here, on "language": we are, at this cultural moment, suspended between the Roseanne Barre episode and the Samantha Bee episode, and there are lots of strong opinions about "profanity." I often warn friends, co-workers collaborators and now, students, that i equally well-versed in Attic Greek and early period Full-On Mamet, and I will pull from either lexicon as I see fit. You are forewarned: 



1) I am unlikely to use the "c-word", because much like the "n-word", only participation in the class to which it refers confers absolution for the usage, and just as I am not-african american or dark-skinned, I don't have a vagina. But I would like to point out that this is one of the moments when our Euro elders could teach us a lesson: it's not as big a deal as we'd like it to be. Vaginas are awesome, and since  certain misogynist circles may have given some of the slang a bad name, a woman calling another woman the c-word is something most men would do well to have no opinion about. I think it's interesting that more people are up in arms about "c__t" than "feckless" - which is rather more insulting and quite, in my opinion, on point.

2) The quaint euphemism above notwithstanding, I am not above engaging in full-on Anglo-Saxon "direct speech." If you don't like that, you'd best ask for a refund now.

3) I have recently become a big fan of "asshole." There is no doubt that assholes are everywhere: they're ubiquitous, gender neutral, and, mostly, full of shit. The real test is whether you acknowledge, in good time, that the shit stinks and needs to go somewhere else before it causes a problem.

Sent Packing.

So yesterday, I started rereading/listening to ZATAOMM. If you are following along at home, you should, too.

The next chapters, 3 and 4, have a few different focal points. Like most of the book, the section breaks down into three “narrative” archetypes:

1) Practical. There is, despite Pirsig's protestations, quite a body of information about motorcycles (and zen) in the book (Not unlike the dizzying encyclopedia of info on whaling interwoven into Moby Dick...)
I will focus on some of this info, because it bears directly on our undertaking. For instance much of chapter 4 is about what to pack on a cross-country motorcycle trip, and Pirsig's advice is pretty good.

2) Expository. Much of the narrative is just that: narrative. A recounting, complete with dialogue, of the trip across the upper left of America by three friends and one of their children, accompanied by a growing mystery that eventually Pirsig calls on us, as the readers, to solve.

3) Interleaved between the first two types is the meat of the sandwich: the philosophical underpinnings that would captivate academics and populists alike, that would enrapt my young mind, and that would be hailed as new branch of philosophy - the Metaphysics of Quality.

But I am getting way ahead of myself. One of the things one must consider on any big trip is what to pack. I have spent enough time on motorcycles (including several periods of my life when they were my primary transportation) that I usually have at least a tank bag and a tail pack ready to go at almost all times.


I have pretty good pack lists for each one, and I know what goes into saddlebags when preparing for longer trips. I have camped out off the back of an Interceptor for nine days at a time, and even took the cycle to Pennsic for at least the first four or five years - THAT was an experience... (for those not in the know about Pennsic - here is a primer: https://abcnews.go.com/US/video/gostream-pennsic-wars-begin-32849773)



The photo above is from 2008 or 2009 - when I was actually going to Pennsic on a motorcycle - and I had a very rigorous packing ritual, because it isn't easy to camp off a motorcycle, let alone a sportbike.
1) Tank Bag - this is the first line of defense - the most accessible piece of luggage on the bike, and where all emergency material is generally stored.
Mine always contains:
- Rain suit
- tire repair kit
- maps (gps/phone)
- tire pump
- first aid kit
- sidestand "foot" for mud or loose ground
- rain cover for the tank bag
- batteries
- emergency lights
- snacks and fluids
- lighter/tinder
- jacket
- cleaners for helmet and visor
2) Tail Pack - This is where the essentials get stored, and this is the piece of luggage that most often leaves the bike at stops, and goes into buildings even if I am not staying long
- laptop
- camera
-iPad (if it's not being used for travel)
- notebook, pens, pencils
- bathing suit
- Dopp kit (toiletries)
- book or two
- backup hard drive and chargers, mouse, etc.
- tool kit
-emergency lights
- straps to turn it unto a backpack
- rain cover for the tail pack
- bungee nets
3) Saddlebags - I use these for clothing, almost exclusively; the two main and two outer compartments of my saddlebags haven't varied in years:
- five pairs of pants: 3) jeans, 1) khaki, 1) shorts
- five shirts, 3) tees 2) polos
- a fleece pullover for warmth
- 5) pairs of underwear
- 5) pairs of socks
- 3) ace bandages to wrap my leg over my socks
- 1) swimsuit
- 1) towel
4) Everything else gets bungeed to the Tail Pack or over the top of the Saddlebags, with bungee nets:
- Tent
- Bedroll (this is actually a 2/3 length, 1.5" thick, self-inflating sleeping pad. Pray for me)
- Sleeping bag (I don't currently have one - recommendations are welcome. I understand that around the Beartooth Pass, it may well get into the 30's even in late July.)
- Sometimes a spare towel.

Here is what Pirsig says I should have... although dated, and centered around his bike and situation, I feel like we are on the same page:

“What I have here is my list of valuable things to take on your next motorcycle trip across the Dakotas...

"...Most of the items are commonplace and need no comment. Some of them are peculiar to motorcycling and need some comment. Some of them are just plain peculiar and need a lot of comment. The list is divided into four parts: Clothing, Personal Stuff, Cooking and Camping Gear, and Motorcycle Stuff.
The first part, Clothing, is simple:
        1.   Two changes of underwear.
        2.   Long underwear.
        3.   One change of shirt and pants for each of us. I use Army “-surplus fatigues. They’re cheap, tough and don’t show dirt. I had an item called “dress clothes” at first but John penciled “Tux” after this item. I was just thinking of something you might want to wear outside a filling station.
        4.   One sweater and jacket each.
        5.   Gloves. Unlined leather gloves are best because they prevent sunburn, absorb sweat and keep your hands cool. When you’re going for an hour or two little things like this aren’t important, but when you’re going all day long day after day they become plenty important.
        6.   Cycle boots.
        7.   Rain gear.
        8.   Helmet and sunshade.
        9.   Bubble. This gives me claustrophobia, so I use it only in the rain, which otherwise at high speed stings your face like needles.
        10. Goggles. I don’t like windshields because they also close you in. These are some British laminated plate-glass goggles that work fine. The wind gets behind sunglasses. Plastic goggles get scratched up and distort vision.

“The next list is Personal Stuff:

Combs. Billfold. Pocketknife. Memoranda booklet. Pen. Cigarettes and matches. Flashlight. Soap and plastic soap container. Toothbrushes and toothpaste. Scissors. APCs for headaches. Insect repellent. Deodorant (after a hot day on a cycle, your best friends don’t need to tell you). Sunburn lotion. (On a cycle you don’t notice sunburn until you stop, and then it’s too late. Put it on early.) Band-Aids. Toilet paper. Washcloth (this can go into a plastic box to keep other stuff from getting damp). Towel.
Books. I don’t know of any other cyclist who takes books with him. They take a lot of space, but I have three of them here anyway, with some loose sheets of paper in them for writing. These are:
        a.   The shop manual for this cycle.
        b.   A general troubleshooting guide containing all the technical information I can never keep in my head. This is Chilton’s Motorcycle Troubleshooting Guide written by Ocee Rich and sold by Sears, Roebuck.
        c.   A copy of Thoreau’s Walden… which Chris has never heard and which can be read a hundred times without exhaustion. I try always to pick a book far over his head and read “ it as a basis for questions and answers, rather than without interruption. I read a sentence or two, wait for him to come up with his usual barrage of questions, answer them, then read another sentence or two. Classics read well this way. They must be written this way. Sometimes we have spent a whole evening reading and talking and discovered we have only covered two or three pages. It’s a form of reading done a century ago…when Chautauquas were popular. Unless you’ve tried it you can’t imagine how pleasant it is to do it this way.
I see Chris is sleeping over there completely relaxed, none of his normal tension. I guess I won’t wake him up yet.

“Camping Equipment includes:
        1.   Two sleeping bags.
        2.   Two ponchos and one ground cloth. These convert into a tent and also protect the luggage from rain while you are traveling.
        3.   Rope.
        4.   U. S. Geodetic Survey maps of an area where we hope to do some hiking.
        5.   Machete.
        6.   Compass.
        7.   Canteen. I couldn’t find this anywhere when we left. I think the kids must have lost it somewhere.
        8.   Two Army-surplus mess kits with knife, fork and spoon.
        9.   A collapsible Sterno stove with one medium-sized can of Sterno. This is an experimental purchase. I haven’t used it yet. When it rains or when you’re above the timberline firewood is a problem.
        10. Some aluminum screw-top tins. For lard, salt, butter, flour, sugar. A mountaineering supply house sold us these years ago.
        11. Brillo, for cleaning.
        12. Two aluminum-frame backpacks.
Motorcycle Stuff. A standard tool kit comes with the cycle and is stored under the seat. This is supplemented with the following:
A large, adjustable open-end wrench. A machinist’s hammer. A cold chisel. A taper punch. A pair of tire irons. A tire-patching kit. A bicycle pump. A can of molybdenum-disulfide spray for the chain. (This has tremendous penetrating ability into the inside of each roller where it really counts, and the lubricating superiority of molybdenum disulfide is well known. Once it has dried off, however, it ought to be supplemented with good old SAE-30 engine oil.) Impact driver. A point file. Feeler gauge. Test lamp.
Spare parts include:
Plugs. Throttle, clutch and brake cables. Points, fuses, headlight and taillight bulbs, chain-coupling link with keeper, cotter pins, baling wire. Spare chain (this is just an old one that was about shot when I replaced it, enough to get to a cycle shop if the present one goes).
And that’s about it. No shoelaces.
It would probably be normal about this time to wonder what sort of U-Haul trailer all this is in. But it’s not as bulky, really, as it sounds.”

Excerpts From: Robert M. Pirsig. “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance.” iBooks. https://itunes.apple.com/us/book/zen-and-the-art-of-motorcycle-maintenance/id360625670?mt=11

The things driven most home to me are these: 1) He was doing all this for two people - on a bike much smaller than the one I will be riding.* 2) Motorcycle technology has changed so much in the intervening half-century that the machines bear only a passing structural resemblance to one another, and this has both positive and negative connotations.  3) The explosion of backpacker-specific camping and mountaineering gear since this time has made doing this infinitely easier, and I am grateful. When i started camping off a motorcycle, back in 2006, i had at least one insight, which was that the lighter and more compact my gear could be, the better off I would be, and that surely, no one had developed a need for light and compact gear like the modern backpacker. So my tent is a Kelty Gunnison 2, which while it requires that the two people who are supposed to be able to share it are at least friendly, if not engaged, for me myself and I it is just fine. I actually have a collapsible stool WITH A BACK that I can take with because it folds up so small and light. I have never packed a mess with me, and haven't yet decided if I will - but if I do, the Biolite stove not only folds to the size of a soup can, and runs on twigs, it will charge my phone while I cook (no lie - check this out: BioLite Stove)

Somewhere around, I have a picture of what my bike looks like when fully loaded for bear...

But I want to get this posted.

The main thing to remember when packing for a long time or distance on a motorcycle is that, as important as it is to have as many bases covered as possible, the most important thing is that your "pack" in no way impede your ability to operate the cycle safely, or to enjoy the time spent riding, because, that, after all, is the point. When motorcycling for a vacation, it really is true that it's the journey - not the destination.

So, it's important to keep the overall center of balance as low as possible, and also important to make sure that the luggage and other attached items don't interfere with handling, visibility, etc.

Above is a super-light pack from a long weekend trip out to Notre Dame and Chicago, back in 2010. I didn't even have the saddlebags, but that Ventura Tailpack - for which the frame system on the back of the bike was designed and installed - carried a ton: over 50 liters.

Then there's a light pack from a while later... for which trip I can't remember, but you can see the matching soft saddlebags on the side of the bike, and the larger tank bag on the gas tank. This is my standard tank bag now, and may be the one I use for the Ride.

Then there's this photo, from a week-long trip to the beach some years ago: I don't even remember what allis bungeed on behind the Ventura, on the other side of the frame, but this bike is loaded:

I am hoping for a relatively compact pack this time out, but I am also cognizant that I need to take more with me than I ever have.

So, it will all, as it always is, be about balance.