“I have chosen to go miles out of my comfort zone, habit monger that I am, and take Frost’s less traveled road. Every day will be completely different than the day before. Accepting the uncertainty of each moment will provide one lesson after the other.” September 16, 2015

This is a long story with too few words to do it justice. On September 16th last year, I picked up a Harley Street Glide in San Francisco. It launched a journey I had started planning nearly a year before. I’d decided to celebrate 70 years of remaining upright, by taking an epic solo adventure on the mainland, something I was completely unprepared to do.

I proceeded to plan a very detailed trip, taking me from San Francisco, east to Yosemite, traveling in a counter clockwise circle, up into Oregon, over to the coast and back down to San Francisco. Every stop and every road was pre-planned, yet I still managed to get lost countless times.

I wrote to my sons, apologizing for making a quiet ride into a little bit of a circus, but I’m sure they weren’t surprised. I got some sponsors, created a “guess the total mileage” contest with KONG Radio and even had a damn poster! Decades of marketing work made it impossible for me to do less.

Concurrently with sincerely wanting to celebrate my longevity was the desire to share this solo journey with people who were beginning to read my blog, mindandthemotorcycle.com and my monthly column in ForKauai.

At times, it felt like I was producing a little show to draw attention to the ride and the writing. The truth is it was an incredibly personal adventure for me. Words from one of my early posts on the ride, “The near overpowering discomfort of pushing my limits was never too far away, but, my God, I saw the face of beauty every single day.”

My first day was like experiencing emotional labor pains, giving birth to the actual journey, because nothing went right and stress ran high. After pulling my 50 lbs. potato sack on wheels up and down the hills of SF, I found the out of the way garage with my adopted Harley. The prior evening, the hard cases were stolen off the bike, creating a serious packing crisis for me. An Uber car was called to carry my luggage to a dealership south of the city. I immediately found myself on top of the Harley for the first time, riding into lobotomizing traffic, following an Uber car to someplace.

I emptied all my gear into the newly installed cases and wrestled with bungee chords to pack a sack right behind me. I proceeded to struggle through some of the worst rush hour traffic I’ve seen, all the while trying not to fall off a motorcycle that was completely foreign to me. Watching the clock, I realized I ran the risk of not getting to my cabin in Yosemite anywhere near nightfall. The last part of my two wheel ordeal found me on a dark, cold and winding road, afraid I’d run out of gas, just to make it seriously exciting. I survived my first day, but it was definitely not a confidence builder.

I hung out at Yosemite Lakes the next day and didn’t even want to look at my two-wheeled tug boat. Late the following morning, I was packed and ready to ride through Yosemite. The bi-polar nature of riding can take you from a terrifying experience to a feeling so rich, you can be afflicted with an emotional sugar rush. I remember being flooded with life on this early leg of my travels. There were rock gods all through the park and my Pandora was serenading me through a solid, sound system, a first for me. I had never ridden before, accompanied by all the music I love, my personal soundtrack.

The trip was filled with those highs and lows and not much in between. Every single minute was brand new to me, as I rolled from destination to destination, which ends up being great fodder to write about.

I want to tell you something amazing and I swear it’s true. I posted every day, sharing both the outside and inside experiences of my trip. The only way I could possibly write this anniversary piece was to go back and inhale the ride all over again, something I have not done since my return, never having read a single old post until this week.

The ride has come completely back to life. Reading my stories, I can effortlessly conjure up the sensations that felt so overwhelming back then. It was a precious adventure and I am so fortunate to have lived it and shared it.

In one of my last posts, I wrote, “We haven’t changed the world with our ride; all we have done is taken a break, gotten away from all that is familiar. What we choose to do with this experience is up to each of us. There is more up ahead and while our ride has come to a close, the journey continues and I hope we get to spend some of it together. Thank you.”

Oh, my God, what I got to experience!
Travel back to September 15th last year on mindandthemotorcycle.com and take the ride for the first time.