Looking Down the Road...

This road I'm on is every bit as long and difficult as I expected.

The ache to get back to the freedom I knew on the road... until being chained down this past year... is strong.

It's a real job cutting loose the bindings my bad choices wrapped around me... but that day is far closer.

I'm waiting now on the last few bits, ordered just a day or two ago, to make my camp long term sustainable.

Some drifters choose to go on just their bikes, and it's a fine way. Very fine. I much treasure long, far rides... just me, the road, and my bike.

Just, for me, for ling term sustainability, there is what I feel, again, for me, a better way.

Having to rely on the generosity of others has left me twisting all to often... and I'll let that lay right there.

Also, For me, I don't like feeling pushed by the weather. When you live on a bike it can seem that way.

A long time ago I was taught and learned to embrace the weather. Fight it and you will lose. The weather will eat you.

You have to embrace the weather, not fight it. So... to live with it I equip to deal with what comes. For long term sustainable life on the road I've chosen to have a hard side "hooch".

With that, the wind, rain...even snow and bears don't push me. I can just hunker down and drink my coffee, warm, dry and secure.

In the past I had larger rigs. Too big. Too heavy. To complicated. Downsizing to this little 72 square foot hooch lightens the burden of that little bit of "security" to insignificant "weight" on body and soul. 

In fact I am left with a pretty awesome camp... though I may be biased!

I'm hoping to be "back in the wind" around April Fools day... isn't THAT appropriate!

Made a lot of progresd since the last post. The pic is the couch/bunk folded out for my bed, and the shelf setup that holds my "tour pack" closet. ALL my clothes are in that...and the jacket duffle and helmet rack just above... minimalism!

***edit*** had to hop through new hoops for google and microsoft to get the post to load and then yet more... to get a pic up... so I added a couple others as well... their screwing around is making computer use a massive hassle rather than a benefit...

*Couch folded out for my bunk*

*Table folded*

*table raised for coffee and sketching*

I'm actually living in the nearly finished trailer now. Figured I better work the unnoticed kinks out of the outfit while I still have a bit of a safety net here.

Once I am I'll do up a short video tour of the bikers hooch camp I am finishing up right now.

Pushing hard with an empty wallet to get loose! 😊

- Brian

p.s. The last few posts had been emailed from my phone... I've missed a couple of comments that got hung up unseen on my phone "awaiting moderation"... I'll try and do better!

Well the Changes Have Been Coming Fast and Furious...

Been running hard. 

First, Arlo and me found a small piece of dirt just after he joined me. Just a five acre spot down in Cochise county in Arizona.

That's Tombstone/Wyatt Earp/Geronimo and Cochise country.

Then... a biggie is my new "house"... I made a lightning fast week long run from Colorado to Alabama and back to pick it up.

The old Jayco 5er I've been living in for the past several years is going to my Kid... to be used for living quarters while they build a new house in Missouri...

*2016 Lakota Charger 3 horse*

The biggest part of "The Change" though is the change in what I'll be riding... It's the "thing" that caused all the shakeup in the first place.

This old buster is goin' back to horse.

I discovered after better than five years without that there was a growing hole inside me. After living with horses for the greatest part of my life, I came to realize they weren't something I was able to walk away from.

It came down to a hard choice; Horses or Motorcycles. It could only be one. I'll tell you right here... the choice was as tough as I've ever had to make. How do you choose between joys?

Buuuut... My current economic realities dictated that I had to make a choice. I just couldn't swing both as things are... Horses won...

That new Lakota helps that out since those back three windows are the three stalls of a three horse LQ (Living Quarters) Trailer. The front half or so is the living quarters.

So... for the coming foreseeable future, my winter camp will be in southern Arizona.

I've gotten committed to helping my daughters family move and build in the Missouri Ozarks, at least the first part of this summer.  But then__Hopefully__by late August or early September I'll return to my little patch of dirt I'm calling Cochise Camp... to start building up a simple Cowboy Winter Camp.

Maybe with a little luck I'll sell enough books in the not to distant future to allow me to regain a fresh Bike.

Until then, when something occurs to me I'll post a story here... but... most of my time is going to be spent writing, riding horsehide and building... the stories of that will be posted on my sister site goin' RV Boondocking.

Living with Horses again, and then having a good Motorcycle for my "Run Around" transport would be a pure Joy of life for sure!

Duckin' and Runnin'
Brian 

How Do You Tell If You're Getting Lost?

When you look around and you don't recognize YOU.

The stagnation of this stationary life that circumstance has gotten me mired in the past few months... has me that-a-way. I feel lost. I can't but feel like I'm just waiting... and there's NOTHING here to wait for. Time is long past to be going...

The hardest thing for those that aren't is to understand the hunger that drives a rover.

There's those that travel and even travel full time that think of themselves with that moniker. They are wrong. They might do it full time for a few years; or off and on for a lifetime... but traveling is not Roving.

Those folks go to see this or they go to see that... and then... they go Home. They might "RV" full time for three, four...maybe five years... but then... They Go Home. They settle in again.

I'm not denigrating them or their way of going when I say; "They are not Rovers." Let's be clear. They are fine but that's not being a Rover. They are simply people who go from here to there and back again from time to time and fully enjoy it.

However... A true Rover... a wanderer... lives from a completely different perspective with a completely different need. He has no intention of getting "There". He's not trying to "Get" anywhere. For the Rover... there is nowhere to "Get"... He's already there. He only needs to be moving.

As a bird needs the sky and a fish needs the river... a Rover has a visceral, genetic hunger for the road. It is a need that drives his soul.

He doesn't seek anything. That is not and never was his goal. It takes a lot of Drifters many years to realize that themselves. They keep asking; "What am I doing? What am looking for?"

They are taught by soh-sigh-uh-tee that they are somehow faulty and their way is a weakness. It takes many years before the realization finally shines in their hearts... "I'm not wrong. I'm not weak. I'm not trying to "DO" anything. I'm not trying to collect anything. I'm just Being. I'm just me."

To quote Gus... "Just a man... free on the earth."

It is the Going that feeds the soul of a Drifter. It's not seeing some place that drives him. It is but the simplicity of the movement itself, the change. The Freedom. ROVING is the Stuff that sustains his soul.

In this society, to be "approved"... you must show yourself to be "productive". You must demonstrate tangible creation for dollar spent. You must be profitable to "IT" the society to be measured a "Good" person.

A Rover has no need for any of that judgmental nonsense.

A rover I will always be

I need the wind in my face

The sun on my back

A throttle in my hand

A big V-Twin rumbling under me

Two tires singing on asphalt

And the Horizon... racing on ahead of me

Simply put, a Rover knows that the place where he belongs, where his Spirit is in rhythm with the universe is out there... along some lonely road... following the paint stripes of a Ribbon of Asphalt.

When he is there... His spirit glows warm with the sure and certain knowledge...

~ I am home ~

Not new words for me... but words that continue to echo in my head.

Grab Your Handles and Ride

Brian

The Two Hour Job...

That's goin' on two weeks! ha ha ha... Yup... those seals and such are maybe two hours for a "trained professional"... and I'm bumping up on a couple of multiples of that.

Buuuuuut... got a call yesterday afternoon and my bushings are in... so I'll bump along today and see how close I can get to putting her back together!

I can't say I'll have saved any dinero... considering the tools I've bought to do this work... but I am kinda happy to be honest that I'm doing it for other reasons. Somehow I think it's a benefit to have been in there, and know better how things work... and just to refresh the memory that I can still get it done when needed.

... and that kinda gets a guy to thinking 'bout other things.

I wrote on my "other" blog/site that I'm now of that age where folks often make veiled and not so veiled comments that it's time for the "old guy" to start slowing down... "You're too old to be doin' things like that any more..."

Just the thinking of that sentiment... let alone the voicing of it makes my liver quiver. My response is generally something like; "YOU are too old to live maybe... but ME? I'm only too old... when I'm DEAD!"

You ever hear or see anything about this Ol' gal? Gloria is 89 years young. Still twisting the throttle and still hangin' it in the wind.

That's my goal now... and I've got better than a quarter of a century to pass her record by!

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Sometimes When it Comes to Motorcycle Maintenance... Cheap Don't Pay

Sometimes a guy just walks along shakin' his head... He's walkin'... cuz the bozo is too cheap for his own good.

Got the forks torn down with very little trouble really. Turned out I needed to enlist a buddy with an impact wrench to provide enough "ooomph" to pop the bolts that hold the forks together. To get them back together I've got to fabricate a "Damper tube holder".

Not a big deal... just one of the "lil' details" nobody seems to mention in their "Easy Job" write ups. ;)

I also need to break down and pick up at least a cheapie impact wrench...

The MAIN obtructification standing in my way is that bit of mush that slops around between my ears. A couple of weeks back when I ordered the fork seals... I was trying to be frugal, conservative... penny wise... yeah lots of fine sounding words that mostly mean tight wad dumb ass to cheap for his own good! ;)

What I DIDN'T order were fresh bushings. Dumb move. When I got the forks apart it was clear and plain they were worn way to much to leave... so they've been ordered now and I wait again for new parts.

In the mean time I decided to make an "Old School" modification to protect those fork seals in the future.

I started hunting around for fork boots.

Only... near as I can tell, Nobody builds any that fit the forks of a Yamaha Raider...

Most of my life, spent on the ranches, has been figgerin' ways to make what you HAVE, do the job you need it to do. So I've developed a pretty good ability to find new parts that were mistakenly believed to be something else!

Like Rancho Truck Shock Boots. Those aren't shock boots! Them there are Yamaha Raider Fork Boots! :)

Yup... their nice rubber boots fit like a freakin' glove. Takes a good bit of effort to get that skinny end started but once you do it fits like it was designed for the purpose.

I'll zip tie the ends with black ties (which will be nigh on to invisible) and dirt getting to the fork seals will not be a problem in the future!

Suh-Wheet!

Now I know... Rubber boots are not gonna appeal to folks that are all into chrome and polish, and I understand that, and that's fine.

But me? I'm into snoopin' around back roads. Signs that say "Pavement ends" don't turn me back like they tend to do for the spit and polish boys...

The only problem with that is, my ride tends to experience a bit more grit and grime than the average big red cruiser..

*Up in the Yukon*

This bike is gonna take me back to Alaska again... it's gonna take me hopefully to the Maritimes... and lots of other places in between... and lots and lots of Places and visions those riders that have to fret about their chrome will never see...except in the pictures made by nut jobs like me. :)

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

She May Have to Ride on the Truck Between Camps... But... A Trailer Queen She Ain't!

 I Believe People Think; "That Boy is Brain Damaged"

A biker has a choice. He/she can ride, paying little attention to the weather, or you can lose those days.

You can sit inside waiting for those sunny days... or you can just ride and take what comes...
 

*Consequence of forgotten rain gear*

If you do plan on taking what comes... I'd suggest you don't ride off and forget your rain gear... after pulling it from a saddle bag while you were rewiring your charging dock... Bwahahahahaha...

I remember pulling into the hardware I used to toil at. The thermometer on the sign board would be flashing 10 degrees as I pulled off my helmet and balaclava walking inside. The cashier would always just look at me and shake her head.

Me? I'd be grinning. I was ALIVE!

I don't care to ride in those temps any more... but... I've no idea why... rain makes me goofy.

Yesterday I rolled though the downpour... and music was swingin' through my head, helmet bobbin' to the rhythm. 

I glanced at the dad and soccer mom in their mini van as I passed, the water just pourin' off me and the bike... the look on their faces said it all; "No wonder this country is goin' to hell! So many people are NUTS!" ... Bwahahahahaha.

Some riders lay out big $$$ for exquisite paint and acres of chrome...

I've thought about it. Thought how cool it would be to ride one of those "show" bikes...

... and then thought about all the sleep I'd lose what with the work to clean and polish all that fancy four times a day...

Nah... for me... the finish I prefer, that fits this rider is the patina of miles. I'll wash off the grime once in a while when I pass a carwash...

... but worryin' any length of time 'bout bugs, dirt and rain splatter... well... that's just a waste of time.

Clean it all off and twelve miles down the road it'll all be right back on there... unless a fella leaves the bike parked under an awning waiting on a sunny day...

Screw that... I'll just remember the rain gear next time ;)

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Trailer Queen She Ain't... She's Also Not a Dirt Bike...

So... You're camped and Sonja your Raider remains sitting in her nest behind the cab of the truck for three days... un-unloaded... because it's freaking Raining.

Yup... raining... something on the order of 5" of that beer without the good parts falling on the roof 24/7 for two days...

And then... and THEN... and THEN... it stopped! HooYa! now I can ride... right?

Uh... Nope...

Two days later... the sun shining brightly... the breeze blowing lightly... and it's time! Right?

Nope...

*48 hours after the cessation of rainfall... and things are still a mite gooey*

It's warm... and it's dry everywhere but the ground underneath. The legs of the rig sank two inches into the ground... the tires on one side wallowed deeper into the once hardpan... now softpan... The rig (our home) starting to lean out of level like a modern wheeled tower of Pizza... uh... Pisa.

And the bike... That lovely red headed, big bootied, lusty two wheeled seductress rolled down the ramp... into the muck and mire...

She didn't roll... push... wallow far before she whispered to the wishful thinker straddling her back; "It ain't gonna happen today cowboy... it's three hundred yards to the road... and four miles to the pavement... we'd best give it another day..."

So he flipped the switch and shut down the rumbling V-twin resting in her frame and lumbered through the clinging clay...cussing... to wait for another day.

Grab Your Handles and Ride.
Brian

ATGATT... Reasonable Care? or Unreasonable Fear?

Well, this rant isn't all about atgatt... It's a convoluted and fuzzy rambling about... surety and how the foolish quest for that, ruins the life that IS surely here.

There's but one thing that's for sure and for certain in this life... Death.

I am weary to the bone of all the people droning on and on and on about do this safe or that safe... BE SAFE!

Ahhhhh... I wouldn't pay a nickle for a pound of Safe... I'm weary of that anemic idea because it's all mostly baloney built on a base of unrealistic fear in the first place.

No matter how much care you take, how religiously you eat your vegetables, no matter how skilled the Doctor or how well your preacher has the ear of God... You my friend... are going to Die.

As long as I can remember I've been propagandized with the idea, in one form or another, to always turn away at risk. Avoid it like the plague. Only foolish people take risks. Risk takers are some sort of whack job.

The reality is, nothing happens without RISK. Adventure is RISK. Excitement can't happen... without RISK.

The reality is, that psychotic, trained in fear of all the things that could go wrong... is surrendering to cowardice under the color of reasonable care.

Life is a dreary and grey place... absent of RISK.

Now... listen up... I'm saying RISK... not STUPIDITY. Accepting Risk doesn't mean ignoring  common sense. It means weighing the benefits, playing the odds and having confidence in your abilities...

OF course... if you believe you can outrun that grizzly after you poke that ugly basket thief in the butt with your sharp stick... I've got my video camera warmed up and focused...

***a bit of a sideline*** just to say it... the base source of this malicious idea of "safety" is our "Leadership". The leaders of Society don't want excited, adventurous spirits taking risks. They want obedient, quiet, productive serfs laboring in safe and reasonable pursuits. (adventurous people are difficult to control) They want those laboring, fearful masses working for them... so THEY the leadership can go out and adventure, sky dive, climb mountains, TAKE RISKS and enjoy LIFE while the rest of us support them***

I've allowed too much of my life to be stolen by that never ending droning about all the dangers of this life and their avoidance; this toxin, that seat belt, red meat, safe sex, crap in the water, crap n the air, speeding, drinking, smoking, running with a fork in your hand, bucking horses, saving money, mercury fillings, genetically modified food, cancer from your cell phone, flu shots, colon cancer, calm down you'll get a heart attack... blah blah blah...

Ugh... I Vow... more people have died from the worry piled on 'em about what might could kill 'em... than from any of those multitude of options that in the end don't matter... 'cause in the end we all end up in the same place...

... The belly of a worm burping and rubbing his stomach; "Damn! That was one good Biker!"

But even worse; While you sit around waiting to die... because once all the risks are seen and avoided... there isn't a hell of a lot left to do but read a book about Somebody Foolish Going out and LIVING... while YOU wait for the worm ... LIFE passes you by.

The thing is this... take  bit of care here and there. Don't be stupid... unless stupidity wiggles your bean. If straddling your bike geared up like a science fiction warrior is what captures your imagination... do that.

If putting it in the wind bare headed and bikini clad is your thing... do that.

Just own it. Accept the consequences of your Choice... and don't judge others for theirs. (or, think you have the right to judge... or impose YOUR values)

The thing is... live while there's living to be done. Live a Class A life while you're living.

Would you rather live one GREAT 30 year movie? or... sit through the agony of 67 years of the worst, dullest, most agonizingly moronic home movies kodak ever created? Think about it...

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Just a Man, On a Fine Motorcycle, Free on the Earth

From Seeley Lake, for a guy that rides a road bike there are but two directions. You can go Hwy 83 North, or you can go Hwy 83 South.


With fall coming on we're moving up to Glacier for a couple weeks before we roll on over to our month of Labor in North Dakota doing the beet harvest.

Yup... that's me, Gypsy Cowboy Biker Beet Picker. ;)

Before we can head across Montana bound for Sydney though... we've got a meetup with some folks up there by Glacier. With Labor Day coming on Monday we've got an issue though.

The Forest Service in its infinite wisdom, locks the gates on the majority of the campgrounds the day after labor day!

September and October, probably the Two Best months of the year... and they lock up the camps... then in the spring, come May... when it's still raining, and snowing and nasty much of the time... They open 'em up! Typical Federal wisdom...

So... anyhoo... I need to ride on up there and scout for a campsite that's NOT going to be locked up while we need it. Where I cut west at Big Fork the other day bound for Kalispell, this time I'll stay north for a bit and then cut east to Hungry Horse Reservoir...

The Sun is Shining in Montana. Gonna be a warm day... So... I'm putting it in the wind under the Wide Montana Sky... rolling up 83 under the Chinese Wall bound for Hungry Horse.

Just a man, on a fine motorcycle, in Far country, free on the earth.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

The Competing Needs of a Cowboy Biker

Balancing the wanderlust of a gypsy Cowboy Biker with the work of living... and the many great and treasured chunks of life is a formidable task for someone as lazy as I am.

Precious Friends whose absence leaves an aching hole in me, my writing and publishing, my Grandkids, my leather craft and even Horses! ... All are personal Treasures competing for a place. Some surely fit together and overlap, some stand alone... but the permanent and total loss of any is unthinkable...

I even tormented over the order they should be placed in the sentence!

... but, stretching out in front of me, remains that road that has no mercy... its whispers are relentless... its call I cannot leave unanswered...

Yet, to remain on the road, to preserve this life that I've come to Love, I increasingly see a burdensome reality. To sustain my gypsy life, I may have to choose to have less of it. It is in my mind analogous, somewhat pompously considering the contexts, to a line from the movie Gettysburg;

General Lee was speaking to General Longstreet before the worst of the battle;
"Soldiering has one great trap; To be a good soldier you must love the army. But to be a good officer you must be willing to order the death of the thing you love.

To wander... you must love the road. To sustain your wandering life, you must often push away from and leave behind the thing you love.

Few can produce a living, from the simple act of BEING a wanderer... They find they have to leave the road for periods of indentured servitude, contracting either their bodies or their intellect, or both,  to produce the dinero required to finance their rambling.

It's akin to owning a horse. If you're going to live with the spiritual fulfillment the animal gives, you must accept that you'll regularly have to shovel some shit.

The trick is to manage your life so the things you love... don't get buried under the horse shit.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Keeping My Balance When I'm Not ON the Bike.

I'm always better as soon as the clamoring towns fall away behind me and the road stretches out to the horizon. It's not something I forget, but it is something a guy loses sight of in the struggle to just live.

The endless drone of the system to produce is a hard thing to resist. You're bombarded nearly every waking moment from every possible angle with jabs to; Make more, sell more, buy more. Yet the majority of that demanded productive citizenship serves only the system.

The reality is, the individual has small and very few true needs. Shelter, food, water, clothing... and a motorcycle! :)

The Primary goal should be; Live More. Producing should only be for the purpose of filling the fuel tank or the food box.

If you put pencil to paper supported by a lil' bit of cipherin' on a cheap calculator, seasoned with a lil' bit of pragmatic reality... you'll come up with a number I'm fairly confident will be a lot smaller than the one you've been 'existing' on.

I find in my own situation I have to consciously, constantly, "defend against the machine". I must deliberately shove all the pressures to "make a living" aside and set about actually... actually LIVING for a while.

The 'machine' is a devious and insidious thing. I often find myself sitting between two worlds. On the one hand I want and need little. On the other, I have to 'Sell' to feed myself, keep the roof patched and tires on the scooter.

It's finding that balance point between the two worlds that sometimes gets lost in the dust and commotion of living.

The best tool I know of to maintain the balance is to simply...

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Crossing Washington in The Smoke...

Freedom of the road... is not always Free and Easy.

Though I live on the road, I don't "Live" on the Bike. My house has four wheels and a hitch, and is drug by a truck... which in its senility, requires ever more attention, a couple grand and more in the last 60 days...

There is hardly a day that passes where I don't wish for an even simpler life. The happiest I've been, in the past ten years, was sleeping in the rain, under the thin skin of my HooDoo tent in Alaska. Just me and a bike. Nothing else to worry about or contend with.

Just me, a man, free on the earth... in rhythm with the land.

Now, my bike, my ONLY truly precious and necessary possession has her own need for attention.

The seals in her forks started leaking some time ago. First one, and then the other. Repair is simple. It only costs money. But that money, as soon as it gets close to being sufficient to pay the mechanic... is consumed by the life around me... and the rig. boo hoo. poor me.

Riding her I have to hold back. The unequal conditions in her front legs produces an unsettling wobble over uneven pavement if I push her out a bit leaning through the bends... and there are other maintenance needs that are stacking up for attention.

Now, knocked into low spirits by the trivial realities of life... I head for Idaho and Montana... only to be confronted by smoke and fires, straddling all the routes I was hoping to travel.

My wheels turn back farther north, Hoping that I can find clear air to travel through, and enough miles without need for repairs... that the repair money can go to Sonja. Sitting patient. Waiting for the attention she deserves. Waiting for the attention she requires. Waiting for the attention she has earned.

A simple life? ahhhh... such a sweet fantasy. It's all just life. Savor each of the small and good bits along the way.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

A Man ... A Machine ... A Love Affair ...

She waits for me in the dark, a metallic lover that commands my soul. In front of my camp beside the aerodrome, the sunrise crawls softly over the mountains.

I sneak out to share the early dawn and softly close the door behind me, as if to guard our affair.

A swirl of steam twists lazily from the coffee in my cup, rising through the still, sweet scented, cool air of the morning, to vanish into nothing.

I stand gazing at her flowing lines and feel that tension. My finger tips slide through the Dew that lays heavy on her skin like the sweat after a passionate embrace.

Behind me, the highway that calls to us both runs just behind the trees. At this early hour it lays nearly silent.

Add caption

Today we're going to dance along the coastal roads. From Cape Mears to Cape Lookout, Cape Kiwanda and Pacific City and we'll climb to the bluffs above the beach.

The trees that shroud the narrow road will hear us rumble under their branches. Like the sensual writhing of lovers, we lean through the bends that wind along the coastline. Man and machine will revel in the joy that is two wheels in the wind on an open road.

Today belongs to us. It is ours and ours alone.

We'll roll together with No one to own our time, our route or our destination.

No one to decide... but us...

Along the way we'll stop here and there to just sit quiet together and take in the visions and the scents. To rest and just breathe slowly, soaking up the life that is our freedom...

... and then we'll continue on.

She'll laugh as we dodge the holes in the road that suddenly appear as we sprint through the sun dappled shade over decaying pavement.

I'll grin with lust as she dances and weaves across the landscape, thundering back her love of the wind.

A strange blend of metal and man...

... The perfect antidote for a world that seems to have lost its mind.

I am forever in love with a machine.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

A Biker Caught Betwixt and Between

I've been on the road now for three years... Which fits pretty fine, since I've been a gypsy spirit since as long as I can remember. My only regret is that I didn't just change my life to this "way" of going a Long, Long time ago.

Buuuut... There's ALWAYS a but...

I also have a very big "scheming" gene that never rests. To many it carries a face that looks just like indecision or at best a short attention span. In reality, it's more akin to an open mind mixed with a hyper active curiosity and seasoned by a hunger to try a bit of everything; all compounded by the very strong realization that my scrawny ass sits on the shady side of the mountain.

It's a lot like one of those; "If I could" grunt, grunt "just get this" gruuuuunt! "pushed into pla.... Oh Look! A Butterfly!" Clank!! as the tool in my hand falls forgotten on the ground and I go wandering off following my new interest sort of mental meanderings. ;)

Too bad all those psychological deficiencies are financed by the wallet of a gypsy biker cowboy disabled vet! :)

So anyhoo, wandering across the country, riding roads all over the west and having a warm dry bed and a refrigerator for my beer in the fiver right behind me, is absolutely fine! If I get to not liking a neighborhood all I gotta do is hitch up and move my house to a fresh place. No shortage of new places to flicker past my wandering eyes.

The ONLY drawback is there are things I want to do, things that really grab my imagination, that just don't fit into that gypsy living.

I have in my head a vision of a one of a kind camp catering specifically to traveling bikers. Keeping that company are visions of several versions of a "vintage/hot rod/classy "rat ride"/survival" sort of a bike... I'd like to carve the tooled leather seats for those bikes with my own tools... since I used to make my living doing custom leather for several years.

...then there's several, looooong... Rides I want to make that a wife, two dogs and a fifth wheel just don't fit well with... especially a wife that enjoys the occasional 200 mile day with me... but not 40 300 mile days in a row... or longer!

All of those are nestled amongst plenty of other schemes that float around behind my eyes when my vision clears after just a few miles out there on the two lane. 

So... though I am as happy as a biker with new tires with the life I have... I am one of those lonesome souls that's never fully satisfied. I'm always pushin' for the horizon... reachin' for the stars... and dreamin' way beyond the world I'm in.

Ain't that what it's all about in the first place? Dreamin' the dreams... and then seein' how many of 'em we can chase down before our odometer ticks its last mile... Living Life and Chasing the Wind!

Grab Your Handles and Ride!
Brian.

The Un-Solicited Wisdoms of; They Know Better Than Me...

I don't believe I've made it through a whole dang month in the last 45 years that some wise soul hasn't accosted me with the un-asked for burden of their denigrating wisdom.

It's not just a motorcycle thing... it's about just 'bout every piece and part of living.

Where does that sort of arrogance come from?

Now let me say right here, I say a lot here 'bout what I think is good, and what I think is bad... and the ways and trails I've found in my search to find more of the good and less of the bad... FOR ME!

BUT... I figure if a body came here... they were lookin' for my ramblings... my Oh-pin-yun about something or other.

... and I didn't rope 'em off the street and force 'em to listen neither! ... I'm not grabbin' 'em by the arm and squealin' about what weak brained droolers they are... just sayin'.

Now... if I ASK a person what they think of this... or what they think of that... I can't complain 'bout the answers I get... and generally I get enough of a variety of responses that I can sift out the sensible answer I'm lookin' for.

It's all those towering intellects, with their sou-peer-ee-ore brain functions, that stink of pomposity, self appointing themselves to dump their un-soh-lisss-i-ted advisements on me like a tsunami of bovine fertilizer; that I did this wrong or I'm screwin' up that ... that frosts my spleen and kinks my bean in a knot.

Where in the hell do folks find the arrogance to even think that THEY KNOW BETTER what pleases ANYBODY? They know what pleases their own selves. They know what works for them... and they know what they don't like... and that's all they know.

They ain't got the sliver of the shadow of a clue what motivates me... what I need and what I want... unless I tell 'em. It tickles my liver to a rolling boil when they come back at me... after I've filled 'em in with a few of those lil' tidbits about ME... that; "No you're wrong! That's Not true!"...

Seriously? I'm what? Too STUPID to know what makes me smile and what makes my liver flip?

I ride to FEEL the wind, the rain, the cold, the heat, the dust, the scent of the pines... I want to experience life... not get Told what it feels like by those who had the cajones to hang it in the wind and know it first hand.

"No" they say. "You need this and that and the other to protect and isolate you from all those things..."

Thanks... I guess I was too damn stupid to know what I want...

NO... I don't NEED those things you say I do... YOU do.

If windshields and fairings... and grip heaters... and electric underwear... and abs brakes and computer operated instant inflation airbag vests and all such accoutrements twist your throttle, I am as happy for you as a furloughed sailor with a full months pay in his pocket finding a discount whore house.

But please, STOP trying to convince me, by way of self inflation and  ad hominem assaults (didn't know I knew any of those educated words did ya?)  that ya'll know better what I like, what appeals to me... and what is better for me... Than I do.

Guess what? I stop listening juuuuuust 'bout the time you fire off the phrase, or something like it; "You HAVE TO"... or ... "You NEED TO"... or "You'd be BETTER OFF if"... arrrrrrrrrrrrggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhh...

JEEEEESUS Cuuuuuurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrimmmmmineeeeeeeeee! I got juuuuust a few active neurons still zingin' around in the Ol' Brain pan. I've kept myself on top of the grass through things that would kill a heavy percentage of the ones claimin' brighter bulbs than mine... and bailed their types out far more than the opposite... SO... I do believe I'm qualified to choose what I wear... and what I sit behind when I'm splittin' the wind on a scooter... and how I live the whole of my life for that matter.

If I ask for an opinion about this or that, or for a soliloquy about your experience with such or the other... by all means pipe up... but if ya'll just want to bestow on such feeble minded as me the precious jewels of your infallible wisdom about how I ain't got the sense to pee in a bucket...

... Bite your tongue...and Give that sucker a freakin' Rest!

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

The Divide 'tween Old Riders and Young Riders

There has always been a bit of a "conflict" between young and old... there always will be. The fortunate are those that survive long enough to learn.

I once was a wild young Bronc Rider... one of the few that had the sense kicked IN to him rather than OUT! ;)

Just like Bronc Riders... out on that Ribbon of Asphalt, there are wild young riders and there are Old riders... but very few Wild Old riders. There are exceptions... but in the whole scheme of things... they are just that... exceptions.

The road has little patience with young riders. It offers few second chances. It responds poorly to those whose testosterone leads them to defy its risks and dangers. Those who ride with disrespect for the road rarely survive long enough to become old riders.

For a time the young demon may impress with their feats and daring... but in the end... they most often live only in memory, for the way they passed... not sat with, sharing a fire.

The old rider has lasted long enough to realize that to be in a  frantic hurry to get where he's going is to deprive himself of much of the pleasure of the going in the first place. He's learned the trip is over when you get there... and his desire is to extend the run... not foreshorten it.

The old rider travels at a pace, and stops more often along the way, to allow him to see what he's riding through... the impatient young pushes on with his eyes on the odometer.

The old biker savors the warmth of a cup of coffee, and quiet conversation in a roadside cafe' along the way of a chilly morning ride... the young chokes down gas station joe and scrambles back onto his bike to hammer down the road.

The old rider has found that putting his knees in the wind in the mountains; riding not slow... but not face tightening fast; the bike swinging back and forth in a graceful dance from turn to turn, its engine throbbing under him as it pulls down into a bend, then surging back up into a straight, a relaxed, rhythmic pace that produces a serenity in the spirit...

... is far superior to the frenzied almost manic thrashing of a machine through the twisties.

The old rider has found that if he does want miles under his tires... wild eyed speed is not the ticket... but a measured, quiet, sustainable momentum. Push too hard and you ride past the point where you physically can't keep up... and the old timer waves with a smile as he cruises on by...

... the wild youngster laying exhausted on the shoulder.

Most important; The Old Biker has found that the ride is for him, and him alone. He doesn't ride to impress the cagers with his masculinity, or his pards with his daring do...

He rides for his own mind, his own heart... and for the serenity of his own soul...

... and he leaves the wild rides... to the Young Riders.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Much is Made of the Freedom of the Open Road

All try to explain the unexplainable. They try to photograph that which cannot be seen. They try to grasp what cannot be touched. They adorn an ethereal philosophical emotion with names that can in no way stretch to encompass the vastness of what they attempt to label.

Those that don't "get it" never will and ridicule the idea and those who hold it. They regale you with tales of the cost of fuel and tires; the speed limits; The jobs required to finance their travels. Even the weather that pushes them inside. All the things that they claim make Freedom an impossibility... and they MISS the truth...

They don't get it and never will. Their minds have been closed to the possibility of something better, something greater and so they are immune to and devoid of its power.

On the other side of the coin; Those that DO "get it" frequently fall into the trap of flowery, nirvana scented poetry parroting how all becomes sweetness and light, once you straddle a pair of motorized wheels and put your nose in the wind.

They're BOTH wrong.

Freedom is NOT about the absence of trial or responsibility, nor a life of unending sunshine and joy. It is NOT a physical condition of the body or the environment it exists in.

Freedom is an ethereal condition within the spirit and the soul.

The keys to the doorway of Freedom are many. The trails are diverse. The rewards identical.

There are those who find it peering through the lens of a camera...

For some their key is found hanging on a thin strand of rope, clinging to the rocky wall of a mountain, high above the canyon floor.

For others it is soaring the sky on polyester wings.

Some might find theirs along a far country trail...

For most of us here, they are hidden in the wind... the horizon stretching out before...

two wheels chasing the paint stripes...

a ribbon of asphalt trailing behind...

When you find it, you know it. You can't describe it. You've never seen it before but you recognize it. You "Get" it. You have it, it's yours... and No One can ever take it from you.

THAT, indescribable, ethereal, Essence... is Freedom.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

The Music of Footpegs and Twisting Asphalt

I like the twisties...what can I say? I like the twisties... and... I like a cruiser motorcycles too...

Now... a cruiser, even one with the sheer grunt on tap of a Raider, can't hope to keep up with a sure 'nuff sport bike... but that don't mean they're pokin' along like some hobblin' cripple neither!

A few rides back I was feeling pretty fine, swingin' through the mountains... the bike leans over... scrrrruuuuuunnnnchiinnnng! Ha ha. You know... the sound that lil' gizmo under the foot pegs makes when you engage the automatic in-motion length adjuster? :)

Yeah... it always makes me giggle. Which is ok when I'm straddlin' the scooter solo. When the back seat is occupied... not so much.

It's become apparent to me that the music of scrapin' pegs don't appeal to some others like it does to me.

There's most generally a small bruise, a couple of inches above the bottom of my shoulder blade on the right side. It's amazing how close it resembles the lil' balled up fist of herself! ;)

SO... we were riding out of camp to find a BBQ supper last evening. Where the dirt track we're camped up meets the pavement there's a small slope where it meets the broken edge of the pavement. I'd crossed that earlier in the day without thinkin' about it. Riding Two Up... there was a fairly solid scrunch and a bump...

'tween that breakover and a low sittin' bike sittin' a bit lower with two up... there was a mite of a conflict...

When we got to the Hog Wild BBQ place in Cottonwood for supper... I got down to make sure I'd just tarnished the surface of the under frame and not cut any major arteries! ;)

And that was all it was... just a new road blemish to add to the patina under the frame of a Yamaha Raider road bike! ;) buuuuut... up in front of that there WAS something that kinda caught my attention...

Apparently... those sounds I'd heard those few previous rides... before this last rain... weren't ALL the footpeg "lean" sensors getting shorter... :) Some of it was a bit of the Hide off of my Hard Chrome exhaust pipes... getting left behind! :)

I've kinda thought I'd been riding a lot more sedately in my aging years...

Guess not so much! HooYa!

What can I say... I are who I are and ever' once in a while ya just gotta let the tiger loose!

Grab Your Handles and Ride!
Brian

A Way of Thinking for Motorcycle Touring Repairs... Far From Parts

You don't have to get deep into the hinterlands of China to get to a spot where there just aren't parts for your Ducati.

Hell, SW Arizona had me failing to find parts for my '08 Yamaha Raider!

I was loading it to move camp a week ago and happened to spot a hole where there was supposed to be a bolt. When and where I lost it I have no idea... or how long my senile self managed to miss a bolt missing out of the left hand fender strut! But there it was.

Then came the confusion in finding out that Yamaha don't stock the bolt in the shops... and I had to leave town. Another rig was coming along behind me in a few days and was supposed to pick up the order for me... on their way through... of course... the order didn't come for them either... so There I was... out in the desert with the scooter un-rideable with the missing bolt and me having used up my patience.

So... I went looking in hardware stores around the area...

A half dozen hardware stores and one dedicated fastener dealer later and I came up with zip... because I had made the mistake of looking for THE part.

Rather than A part that would do the job until a proper and correct replacement could be acquired.

I had just left the last hardware store in Lake Havasu city without the RIGHT bolt... when an old lesson FINALLY broke through the crust that's formed over my brain pan the last few years. ;)

I did a very nice military style about face and trotted right back in. The clerk that had helped me looked kind of surprised. I told him I'd had a Cowboy epiphany and crooking a finger at him said; "Follow Me."

Yes sir... when you're a long ways from town on a ranch... you learn to make do with what you have until something better comes along.

This first pic is the right side fender strut and how they should look with both proper and correct button head bolts.

*How the Fender strut bolts are supposed to look*

This next pic is the left side from where the left hand bolt had vanished... and my improvised fix...

*Raider Fender strut with temp bolt for a fix*

The only thing any of the hardware stores had was HEX head bolts. None of the Button head in the right thread rate/metric.

The problem as I saw it was going to be fitting a socket on the hex head bolt and getting it down into the recess in the fender strut... so I kept to my single minded search for the RIGHT type, rather than one that would get things put together and functional in a pinch.

My cowboy epiphany was that I could space the TOO large head out with washers or a spacer and have a good strong 10.9 grade bolt in there until I can get my hands on the bolt you have to Order from Yamaha.

*washers spacing the hex bolt on a Raider Fender strut*

Turned out, the recess isn't as tight as I thought it was... but it don't change my point any. :)

That point being; Do you really want to sit in a parking lot somewhere for a week or ten days waiting for some ordered part to get to you from a Motorcycle dealer?

Go find a decent hardware store or mechanics shop of some kind. You can almost always find bits and pieces in a hardware store or shop; Parts that were made for something else; BUT, parts that you can, with a lil' imagination, fit together to get the job done securely, until you can replace the faulty bits with the permanent repair.

When you're broke down and a long way from home and other help... think outside the box, Use your imagination and don't just stay broke because you don't have a piece with the proper part number!

Hell... a metal strap bent around and with a few holes drilled in it could likely be worked up to replace a busted shock and get you rolling to find the permanent fix. It'd be a tough testing hard tail! ;) but then I did see that old man on a '36 Indian riding to Alaska... on his Old HARDTAIL! :)

The Bike is fixed... and now I've got the excuse to make the 300 mile or so round trip ride to Phoenix to pick up a pair of Proper Raider Fender Strut replacement  bolts! ;)

Where there's a will... There's a way... just let your imagination run.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian

Safety? Or Living Life? Which RIdes First on Your Motorcycle

When you climb on your bike... What is your FIRST, major and enduring thought?

All the bad things that can happen? or... Your Hunger for the Soul filling, lung expanding, heart throbbing joy that lives on the open road?

Do you spend your time worrying about dealing with all the possible lowsides, highsides and potholes of life? or do you set things up with a reasonable amount  of common sense... and then, having done what you could do... Go out and LIVE?

No matter how much ATGATT you strap on; how much insurance you carry, how bright your colors, how loud your pipes, how careful your attention, how skilled your handling and how lucky you might be... at the end of the road... You Die.

Looking back, do you want to see; A life lived inside sealed rooms with filtered sterile air and non-flamable, non-toxic, non-cancer inducing padding? Eating food that is carefully created to be safe for your heart... and tasteless? Protected by armed guards and cradle to grave oversight and management by a "benevolent" government?

OR...

Do you want to LIVE, and taste all the Joyous memories you can create... until you die?

That's truly the question that sits hidden under all the noise and spin.

...and in the end... all that spin for "Safety and Security" is generally spun by somebody with something to sell or an agenda that will collect power unto themselves...

... and in the end, how much of that caution even matters?  'cause the triple check safety nuts and those who LIVE... end up in the same place... a handful of ashes in a bucket.

If you choose that imagined safety, security and predictability, Ok, that's Fine. I don't have a problem with it. The choice is yours. Where I start having "Issues" is when somebody ELSE... starts trying to impose their Values and Oh-pin-yuns on ME... How, where, when and why I ride... and How I LIVE (or do anything else for that matter)

Look. The only real question I ask myself before I take any action is... Is this all me? Can/Will this do any damage to another person or their property?

***I'm talking physical and real here... not someone's ego or dainty feelings.. grow up and get over it. The fact that you might miss someone if they check out early from their decision to take risks is YOUR problem. You've no right to try and restrict someone else's options, 'cause you don't want YOUR feelings hurt. Telling someone; "All you think about is yourself! You don't think about ME... you don't think about US! If you can't hear the double standard hypocrisy in that... I can't explain it to you***

If the only downside hits me... than it is MY choice and ever'body else needs to let go and just stand back.

That goes for Helmets, ATGATT, cigarettes, seat belts, crossing the double yellow to pass slow VW bugs when you've got visibility for 400 yards in both directions, sky diving, medical insurance, ... and on and on and on...

People need to let go, stand back and let folks LIVE. They'd get a more harmonious outcome.

Grab Your Handles and Ride
Brian