riding on the range I’ve got my helmet…on
I’ve got my boots…dusty
It has been said that all good things must come to their end, and it has been told that there will be a day when even I meet my fate. But for now…we venture on.
I need to start taking more notes, because I forget a lot of things and the days blur together. Now, was it yesterday, or the day before, that I met that boring older couple from England at camp? The post office is closed because it’s…Sunday? Right. What’s the date? No, what year is it?
I meet a lot of people on the road. And always the question, you know the one. The answer is obvious: I’m travelling around America and maybe more on my motorbike. No, I don’t have a job. I quit. Yes, I’ve come a long way. Look, I’ve got an adventurous soul and eyes ablaze with glittery wanderlust. And with such a loquacious tongue I answer all their questions and with such a charm as to win over all. But I tire of all these questions and I can only hold the masses at bay for so long, for it’s starting to feel more like a rehearsed speech each time. These questions are asked because there are so few others who pick up and do the same. Few young people roam the roads; a shame really. If there were more, the questions would cease, or at least it would just be understood. You could just say, “I’m adventuring.” And then, say your family,when asked, where their son or brother or whatever is could just say, “Oh, Richie? He’s just adventuring in the Pacific Northwest. Yea, he’s just having a ball of it. Maybe he’ll return to us someday.” And of course, it would just be understood.
But what you have out there on the road instead are these great caravans of RV’s and motorhomes. They tow SUV’s behind them in addition to having golf carts strapped to the back. Lots have 4 or 5 bicycles clamped on as well. They’re massive beasts. Expensive and truculent chariots, full of unnecessary garbage that belongs not to a life well travelled. Most are nicer than my old apartment, and bigger. More expensive than a nice home. Look, you could just stay in a nice hotel every night for years and drive around the country in a car. It would cost less. Buy new clothes in every city instead of washing them even. No need for luggage.
And then there are the Harleys man. Thousands of them, pulling trailers bigger than the bikes themselves. What’s in those trailers man? Certainly not tents, for I’ve never seen one at a campsite. Clothes maybe? Microwaves? Able bodied riders wheel about on Harley trikes, 3 wheel variants that allow their riders all the pleasures of the most gentlemanly way to travel without the risk of tipping.
Everyone out here is old and fat.
They’re all ripe for the taking baby.
What we need is for a new breed of American pirate to emerge. Plunder these lumbering road hogs! All of them!
A small band of like-minded souls on some fast bikes could rule the roads man, make a killing, and have some serious sport!
Alas, it will never be.
Few desolate loners roam the wastelands on vintage Honda twins…
…I hear there can be only one