I was thinking about calling this story A Pimple on My Butt: The Metaphor. Now, that I am turning my full attention to my upcoming trip to Tuscany, I kind of like the name gifted to me by a friend a little more. However, I will get to the pimple later on because it actually has a lesson, beyond reminding me I have a right cheek.

In the several weeks since I posted my last story, I have thought about cancelling my travel, a by product of rampant anxiety. In the next several weeks, my writing will likely be quite personal and we might as well get used it to it on this side of the ocean, actually two oceans.

I consider myself a pretty lucky guy because of the way I have been treated by the invisible folks in charge. At times, it seems like a perfect pattern of events and feelings, conspiring to keep me always looking just ever so slightly deeper inside myself. The recent turn of events definitely has me looking over my shoulder, trying to catch the orchestra leader’s gestures to the pieces that make up my life.

A couple of weeks ago, I had what I now refer to as an episode. On a Sunday just like today, after my ride with the Sons of Kauai, right around this time, I somehow managed to lose track of the balance of the day and woke up around three in the morning. I looked around for clues, like take out dinner in the trash or signs I had taken my thousands of herbal capsule remedies. A clean Kauai Juice Co. bottle was a sign Laura must have been in the house, but no recollection.

Right away, I pay an emergency visit to the Google ER, in order to determine precisely what happened. Of course, all the news sucked, triggering a call to my Doc, who promptly scheduled the DREADED MRI, amongst other things. To me, the thought of an MRI is like being entombed thousands of feet below ground in a dark, cold chamber, with a thin straw for air and it is just out of reach. This was right around the time when the trip to Tuscany felt like climbing Mt. Everest in the dead of winter, wearing a Hyatt towel and slippahs.

The two weeks in between my initial office visit and receiving the results of the tests was a time when I embodied Woody Allen, a guy I really don’t like for several reasons and one I’ll leave alone. He has made a fortune, mining the neuroses of the Jewish American male and I don’t think it’s been good for people like me, who have unwittingly provided an abundance of material without any reimbursement.

You know, you have to be so careful as you get older, because it is easy to fall into all the bear traps of expectation. How could I possibly think to go to Tuscany alone at my age and in my state of health? For a while, I felt as if I was shrinking in the world. Before this slips into the lament of an old man, let me say bullshit to that. Every damn one of us is challenged so many times in our lives and the umbilical cord of compassion is what we can learn to share, with each other and ourselves.

I know every one of you is breathlessly waiting to hear about the outcome of the MRI, etc., to see where this is taking us. I am fine. I am encouraged. I am going to Tuscany. I had pushed myself into a very unpleasant limbo regarding the trip and when I left the doctor’s office this last time, I felt a different kind of energy starting to inhabit me. My body decided we were going to Italy and now my mind needed to catch up, so all of me could dance ahead together.

I have been looking forward to writing this piece and felt it would be appropriate to fold it into my ride with the Sons of Kauai. I always love to take my Sunday ride before I travel anywhere and today was THE day for the ride before I leave. Today was simply stated, a classic, Kauai motorcycle ride. Bikes from all over the island got together for a Boys and Girls Club fundraiser and the turnout rivaled any, including Russell’s annual Toys For Keiki ride before Christmas. My entire ride today was yet another wonderful affirmation for me to keep moving ahead, embracing life’s next turn. Sure, I’ve got some nerves and I guess they will keep me company, but they live behind me and not in front, at least it sounds good to say it.

This last paragraph is all I have really wanted to tell you. The best part of my solo motorcycle ride on the mainland a couple of years ago, was always thinking like a writer. There was nothing more important to me on that ride than sharing my experiences with you. I swear I am going to Tuscany because I want to share it with you and I wouldn’t go if I couldn’t write. In the past few days, I have been encouraging folks to read my stories., sounding like a vacuum salesman. The idea that people are reading my stuff makes me try as hard as I can to do a good job, which may sound corny, but I ain’t lying.

I am even on Instagram #mindandthemotorcycle, a serious technological leap for this Neanderthal.

If you have gotten this far, please tell some friends about Larry’s Adventura d’Italia. I think you should come with me because I could use your help.

PS: Here is the deal on the pimple thing. This morning, I discovered I actually had one on my butt, a true rarity. I realized its discomfort was a metaphor, letting me know that Tuscany will have its challenges, but to give myself over to beautiful moments like today’s heavenly ride. It is actually feeling better now and thanks for asking.

Music is going to be huge on this trip. My soundtrack is coming with me. Stay tuned.