I don't know...
...what the heck that wasp was doing in my boot, but he let me know in no uncertain terms that he had no intention of ever being friends with my big toe.
My humble apologies
I think any person who is about to go on an epic adventure sans loved ones owes those sans loved ones a round of epic apologies.
So, this is to you, my sans loved ones:
To my wife -- Thank you so much for smiling whenever I start talking about riding my motorcycle around America. You have been so loving and gracious and supportive of my dream, and what have I done for you? Left you with an acre of property to mow with a lawn mower that might or might not start, depending on the day of the week, and one word of advice: Always remember to check under the hood for wasps BEFORE you start the engine.
To my children -- Thank you so much for thinking my marathon trip across the country is a cool thing for me to do. At times, I have wavered at the thought of leaving you guys behind, thinking it would be best for me to stick around, fix dinner for you and mow the yard for mom, but you've kept me focused and on track. And what have I done for you? Left you without any supervision or chores, and one word of advice: Always remember to clean up after your parties before mom gets home.
To my parents and in-laws -- Thank you so much for not saying too many negative things about this adventure I'm heading out on. I know you'll fret, I know you'll worry, I know you'll be angry if I go out and kill myself leaving you to foot the bill for my funeral and burial, but you've kept all those thoughts bottled up inside yourself knowing that expressing them will more than likely not help one bit, and for that I'm forever grateful. And what have I done for you? Hmmmm. I'm not really sure. Let me think about that.
To my cats -- I would say I'm sorry that I'm leaving you behind, but I'm not.
And to my NON sans loved ones, I'll see you soon out on the road. I leave Monday, June 1.
YEE-HAW!
So, this is to you, my sans loved ones:
To my wife -- Thank you so much for smiling whenever I start talking about riding my motorcycle around America. You have been so loving and gracious and supportive of my dream, and what have I done for you? Left you with an acre of property to mow with a lawn mower that might or might not start, depending on the day of the week, and one word of advice: Always remember to check under the hood for wasps BEFORE you start the engine.
To my children -- Thank you so much for thinking my marathon trip across the country is a cool thing for me to do. At times, I have wavered at the thought of leaving you guys behind, thinking it would be best for me to stick around, fix dinner for you and mow the yard for mom, but you've kept me focused and on track. And what have I done for you? Left you without any supervision or chores, and one word of advice: Always remember to clean up after your parties before mom gets home.
To my parents and in-laws -- Thank you so much for not saying too many negative things about this adventure I'm heading out on. I know you'll fret, I know you'll worry, I know you'll be angry if I go out and kill myself leaving you to foot the bill for my funeral and burial, but you've kept all those thoughts bottled up inside yourself knowing that expressing them will more than likely not help one bit, and for that I'm forever grateful. And what have I done for you? Hmmmm. I'm not really sure. Let me think about that.
To my cats -- I would say I'm sorry that I'm leaving you behind, but I'm not.
And to my NON sans loved ones, I'll see you soon out on the road. I leave Monday, June 1.
YEE-HAW!
Haiku circulation
Late-night spring soirée
along Tornado Alley
firing up again.
* * *
I was born and bread
to fear green skies all along
Tornado Alley.
along Tornado Alley
firing up again.
* * *
I was born and bread
to fear green skies all along
Tornado Alley.
Overplanning for an adventure
Let me be perfectly honest with you ...
(which implies that sometimes I'm not, which would be true, but not today)
... I honestly am starting to get butterflies about going on this grand adventure across America. And I'm not talking about those little-bitty cute butterflies that flitter hither and yon looking little-bitty and cute. I'm talking pterodactyl-sized butterflies that rip out your guts and feed them to their baby pterodactyl-sized butterflies as a healthy snack, cuz you know those mammas only want the best for their little ones.
I think they're attacking my innards because I'm trying to plan too much, trying to schedule my time wisely so I don't waste time, trying to calculate just how much fuel I'll need so I don't run out in the middle of the Extraterrestrial Highway and be stuck in the middle of the desert fighting off a gang of ET's trying to take me home.
I keep trying to make plans and the plans don't want to be made.
The plans just sit back with their shades on, puffing on a bit of Willy's Weed, saying, "Listen, man. Just go with the flow. Sleep where you stop. Eat when you're hungry. Poop in the woods. Sit on your bike and play ukulele when you're out of gas. Somebody's SURE to stop and help. Just be cool, man. Real cool."
But I want to be in Michigan at a certain time on a certain day. I want to take only five days to ride the Lincoln Highway. I've got to be eating lobster in Maine, bear steak in Montana, marlin in Florida, and pizza on Time's Square before August 10, and if I don't make these...
"Be cool, man. Just enjoy the ride."
But.
"Cool."
Cool.
Real Cool?
"Damn straight."
(which implies that sometimes I'm not, which would be true, but not today)
... I honestly am starting to get butterflies about going on this grand adventure across America. And I'm not talking about those little-bitty cute butterflies that flitter hither and yon looking little-bitty and cute. I'm talking pterodactyl-sized butterflies that rip out your guts and feed them to their baby pterodactyl-sized butterflies as a healthy snack, cuz you know those mammas only want the best for their little ones.
I think they're attacking my innards because I'm trying to plan too much, trying to schedule my time wisely so I don't waste time, trying to calculate just how much fuel I'll need so I don't run out in the middle of the Extraterrestrial Highway and be stuck in the middle of the desert fighting off a gang of ET's trying to take me home.
I keep trying to make plans and the plans don't want to be made.
The plans just sit back with their shades on, puffing on a bit of Willy's Weed, saying, "Listen, man. Just go with the flow. Sleep where you stop. Eat when you're hungry. Poop in the woods. Sit on your bike and play ukulele when you're out of gas. Somebody's SURE to stop and help. Just be cool, man. Real cool."
But I want to be in Michigan at a certain time on a certain day. I want to take only five days to ride the Lincoln Highway. I've got to be eating lobster in Maine, bear steak in Montana, marlin in Florida, and pizza on Time's Square before August 10, and if I don't make these...
"Be cool, man. Just enjoy the ride."
But.
"Cool."
Cool.
Real Cool?
"Damn straight."
I'd rather 1,000 black cats...
... cross my path than that one ugly wild boar I met up with the other day, on a dark road in the middle of nowhere.
New tires, new chain, and the help of others.
See these two gentlemen working on my bike? They're just a few of the good folk at Spruill Honda who are keeping me on the road this summer. I would take them along with me, but they're big guys and would probably throw me off at the first rest stop just so they'd have a bit more elbow room.
Actually, they're really nice guys who taught me a lot about my motorcycle -- how to do some simple maintenance while I'm on my trip -- and provided me with some spare parts and tools in case I felt the urge to have something go wrong just so I could try and fix it before the tow truck showed up.
But let's not jinx anything, right?
Actually, they're really nice guys who taught me a lot about my motorcycle -- how to do some simple maintenance while I'm on my trip -- and provided me with some spare parts and tools in case I felt the urge to have something go wrong just so I could try and fix it before the tow truck showed up.
But let's not jinx anything, right?
This long slow rain...
... is gonna wash my blues away, wash my blues away no doubt for better a brighter day.
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