7.21.10 - The Final Monthly Ride the Edge Update:

“Success is not final, failure is not fatal: it is the courage to continue that counts.” – Winston Churchill

The journey is completed and yet just begun as I come back to a formerly known and familiar world that is now as alien as the regions that have just been explored. A few quick FINAL updates are below, followed by some final thoughts and thank yous. The blog will continue being updated with experiences and tales from the road. Realizing that I’ve left you all in the Florida Keys, your wheels will continue to roll down the road as you’re brought on the full extent of the journey, so please stay tuned.

Final days on the road: 153

Total miles traveled: 23,263

Total miles around U.S. perimeter: 17,744 (estimated by my route)

Pairs of Sunglasses: 5 – it must have been the magic number

States: 36 plus D.C. and Canada

Time Zones Traversed: 5; triple up on the American 4 (Eastern only doubled)

Current Location: Home

Books Read: Genome by Matt Ridley; Black Mass by Dick Lehr and Gerard O'Neil; Travels with Charley by John Steinbeck (Thank you Crystal); A New Earth by Eckhart Tolle (Thank you John) and I finished up at home with A Moveable Feast by Ernest Hemingway

The “MOST” places visited: 4 corners of U.S. plus:
• Southernmost point in U.S. – Key West, FL
• Easternmost point in U.S. – Quoddy Head, ME
• Northernmost point in U.S. – Northwest Angle, MN
• Westernmost point in U.S. – Cape Alava, WA

For just over 5 months and 23,000 miles, I was retired at the age of 33. Riding into the first few months of my 34th birthday, America was my home, my office, my passion and my inspiration. It’s difficult to write through bubbles of choking emotion, now that the journey has delivered me safely home to a world left behind and a world of possibility in front of me. I have been free of all constraints and 90 degree prisons. There were no boxed-in apartments, no safety of the caged automobile, no cube to work from, no cornered television to drain my essence. The road was pure passion, wild and free. Life roared through time that remained stagnant. Distance was measured in miles, not minutes while a free soul bellowed triumphantly and tauntingly through oncoming gales.

America has proven to be more beautiful than ever expected, and this trip, as extensive as it was, merely an appetizer to the bountiful feast that is this country called home. These travels have not sated my wanderlust, but fueled it with a raging desire to explore all that has not been seen. I have battled a bear and ducked moose, dodged antelope, hiked with a coyote and fished with a bald eagle. Mother Nature has threatened to end my existence as swiftly as the Mother F@ckers that vomit their poisonous habits onto our roadways. I have feared for my life and basked in the splendor of which it is. Mountains, plains, oceans, volcanoes, islands and rivers have all been a playground and gauntlet at the same time. I have been frozen and baked, exposed to 80 degree temperature shifts on and off the bike that left me layered in ice and caked in salt. This journey has waged a war against fear and indecision while providing peace with inner demons that threatened to possess. The road has provided me with miracles and tragedy, life and death, elation and depression. When once trying to explain my emotions and the volatility of them, not merely day to day, but sometimes hour to hour, a friend told me with raw certainty: “Of course you are. You’re living a full life. Condensed.” It was perhaps the most brilliant reasoning that ever dripped into my ears. There were times when I wanted to give up, throw in the towel and call it a day in fits and screams of rage and fury. But the road, the beckoning miles of asphalt and concrete, kept singing its siren song, leading me further and further down the black and yellow rabbit hole. The trick was to know the tune. To be aware of that allure and see the rocks, steering out of the way at the last minute before crashing into them. Play the sirens’ game and grift the grifter. This trip is one in a lifetime. Not because the adventures are over. Oh no. I have a taste now and restless blood runs thick in these veins. The trip is once in a lifetime because it will never be matched in route, reason or emotion. I could follow the same highways and byways and the outcome will be completely different, even for me. If another soul should attempt the feat, their experience will be different than mine based on their motivations. This journey, my friends, is one in a million. It will never be replicated exactly and for that knowledge, my shit eating grin will never leave my lips.

Some little known facts about the trip:
• Superstition wins. Every time.
• I sang the song (or some variation of) Black Betty every single day I rode her
• Mornings hit on the most brilliant inspiration, but it was also while I was riding
• A good waitress can make your entire day, at breakfast. Consequently, a bitch can completely wreck it
• Most mornings on the bike I talked to myself in just about every accent known to the world. Favorite? Trying to say “grainery” very fast, in Scottish. Most often uttered: "that's great kid, now don't get cocky."
• A song could get stuck in my head for weeks at a time
• Dangerous situations would cause me to scream with absolute glee. Common sense kept me out of most of those
• I watched videos of Pete in my tent just about every night
• Blogging from the road became very stressful
• At a certain point, quite quickly, fear is replaced by a curiosity of outcome
• People CAN be trusted
• There may be a lot of shit talkers among us, but all bikers respect each other
• There is nothing better than the metallic taste of bourbon, clicking on a laptop with the walls of your house flapping around you
• The bond of travelers disappears once summer vacations start
• There is no reason that anyone on this earth cannot achieve their dreams.
• There really is only do or do not. There is no try.

Much appreciation goes out to many people along the trip. Here is my best attempt to capture all the generosity that swerved into my lanes over the past 5 months.

Cast and Crew (In order of appearance)

• My Family. All of you, for without your support and encouragement this trip would NEVER have been possible. I love you all and am forever grateful that you continue to entertain the crazy ways of your son, brother, grandson, nephew and cousin
• Ride Chicago – Chicago, IL - School for motorcycle safety and licensing
• Uke’s Harley-Davidson – Racine, WI. Geno, thanks for getting me on the big bikes
• Suburban Harley-Davidson – Thiensville, WI. Dick and crew – you’re better than eHarmony. In fact, you did so well with the bike, I may just have you pick out my next girlfriend
• Digitas Chicago – for recognizing the importance of an employee’s need to try something a little crazy and having their back the entire time
• Milwaukee Harley-Davidson – Milwaukee, WI – for making Betty’s trip to the west coast a little more comfortable and her home-coming an experience in luxury
• Haul Bikes Motorcycle Shipping – Milwaukee, WI – for getting Betty to L.A. in one piece
• Tim – for selflessly allowing my truck to dominate his garage space while I was gone
• Glendale Harley-Davidson – Glendale, CA – you picked her up, cleaned her up, stored her for free and had an unbelievable staff
• Dylan, Will, Juliette and Jean Patrick -your hospitality and generosity know no limits. Thank you for being Ethan’s friends and now mine. This goes out to the entire L.A. crew that are simply too many to list, but my hope is that you know who you are and that you always have a warm bed in Chicago
• Adam (and Will again) -for putting together one KICK ASS commemorative intro video
• Rustie and Chris – thank you for kicking off the trip with such culture and beauty. San Diego will always have a place in my heart, as will the old man playing saxophone under a street lamp
• Dan, Hilary and Bowie – we go way back and will continue to go way into the future
• Yoonil – follow your dreams cowboy and don’t ever be discouraged
• Joeta’s Leather – Mesa, AZ – your bovine suit of armor kept me safe from all dangers
• Bob and Luann – a long overdue visit and was glad to get to know you better as an adult
• Dave and Roni – cut from similar cloths, I look forward to seeing you soon
• Goe Harley-Davidson – Angleton, TX. You guys helped a traveler, rocked out the service and Dallas, thank you for the intro to REAL Texas BBQ and driving my ass 30 minutes out of your way. TRUE customer service
• Doreen and Gene – as always, your love and hospitality keeps me going
• Cathy, Thomas and Kirstyn – the flowers are bloomin’ in Texas. Love you guys
• Ben and Angie – rain check on that crawfish boil? Bourbon Street wouldn’t have been the same
• Mel and Jane – thank you for everything, it was great to see you…and again…and yet again 
• Nick and Janelle – new friends for life that took a chance on a goofy looking biker
• Rachel, Abby, Morgan and Selena – your van, with its non-flapping walls was heaven, you four are amazing...fantastic even?
• Radar – keep living the life that is envied by all
• Nimrods – for the much needed boys weekend in Miami. Enough said.
• Mary Anne, Greg, Tony and Kelly – great to get some one-on-one with ya’ll
• The town of Taintsville – for existing
• Becky and Kelly – Savannah wouldn’t have been the same
• Myrtle Beach Harley-Davidson – Myrtle Beach, South Carolina – Black Betty appreciated the spa treatment and you people just kick ass
• Zac, Jake and Josh – good, ole fashioned’ country fun, USMC style. Semper Fi, gentlemen
• The Royalty of Assateague Island
• Christine and Trevor – strangers to acquaintances to friends, thank you for opening your home
• Atlantic County Harley Davidson – Absecon, New Jersey – unexpected, in and out, you take care of your own
• Dave – for helping to make my birthday painful and completely unforgettable
• Tasha and Ahren (and Nando) – Brooklyn style, baby! For letting me be a last-minute guest and being phenomenal tour guides
• Mandy – always
• The NYPD Officer at Lady Liberty – you and I know why. I salute you.
• Tim and Caitlyn – your hospitality kept me full, your coffee kept me awake and your soap kept me clean (when I used it)
• Angela – for guiding me around John Harvard’s polished foot with an outlook that will never tarnish
• Wolverine H-D and A.B.C. H-D – esp Dan in service - Betty needed a new pair a shoes and you found her glass slippers
• Hodag Honda – my lid fell apart and you fixed my brain-case for free – keep on rockin’
• All you campers that gave me that little taste of home for a much needed boost in motivation as well as exhaustion
• Wausau Harley-Davidson – Rothschild, WI – hometown service, hometown attitude
• Jacyn and Brian – for humoring the guest that wouldn’t leave and caring just as much for Betty as I do. You two knock life around in style
• Devil Mountain Harley-Davidson – Pittsburg, CA – you guys had the BEST service out of all the shops that I called home. ALL dealerships visited were exceptional. You were just that much better
• The Nelson Sisters – Cali style
• Big Bear Cabin Crew – Will, Marie, Carl, Carolyn, Paul, Joe, Sarah, Tammy and Pablo – for inviting me to share your holiday with you and for your incredible strengths in courage, humanity, caring and maturity in the face of tragedy. Lucy will be missed
• Tim – for your newly formed friendship, constant encouragement and everlasting humility. Retire already and enjoy that Dyna!
• The men and women of our armed forces and those that protect our borders, for doing what you do every day to make dreams like this possible. And for showing me real machine guns and educating me on the finer points of specific situations.
• All of you supporting and commenting on the blog, offering words of encouragement, advice and warning
• My fellow brethren, bikers and travelers from all corners of the globe. You offered me places to see. You offered me places to eat. You offered me soft beds, warm campfires and even warmer spirits. You came from Switzerland, Deer Isle, Phoenix, Illinois, Wisconsin, Germany, Napa, Canada, Mexico, Alaska to form one world, the road. Most importantly, I thank you for your trust, companionship and having the balls to do what you do
• Every man or woman that gears-up onto a Harley Davidson and any biker that keeps pushing and stretching their borders
• The BEST friends a guy could have. You know who you are. You talked to me on the trip, kept me sane in the darkest, loneliest hours, made me laugh on Facebook and kept me human when a feral side threatened. You are the ones I continue to talk with and text, the ones that share experiences, movies, dinners and beverages. If not for you. This could have not been done.
• Pete – for not holding a grudge and your unconditional, furry, drooling love

With words that can never express, I thank Ethan Willoughby and F. Roger Rutter for showing me how real men live life and providing the truest forms of inspiration ever to be felt and learned from. You rode on my shoulders and kept me far from peril. It is known fact that I came through unscathed because of your presence and protection.

"The bike didn't break me. The road didn't take me. I will forever be alive knowing that I followed the road paved by my heart."

Florida: The Keys 3.27 – 4.5

Route: 41E to 997S (Krome Ave) to 1S

“You can’t lay on the beach and drink rum all day if you don’t start in the morning.” – Bathroom Wall

Florida’s Everglades, as beautiful as they are, are surprisingly small when cruising through. For some reason there was this grandiose idea in my head that the area consumed by the wetlands was vastly greater than Russia. Being left on an island in the middle of Gator land is still not a desirable situation no matter what the size, although one is able to drive through the Glades pretty quickly. The views, the life and the energy that flows within their swampy waters are can flood a soul and pours riders out into an easy glide down to mile marker 107.

Wanting to soak up the Keys as much as possible and slowly, deliciously drip down the gulf to a puddle of bliss at Key West, the first day’s ride is parked at King’s Campground in Key Largo. It’s a decent campground, but it’s primarily for RV-ers and the sites for the tents are compacted upon one another like smoked oysters in a tin. Tent areas resembling kitty litter boxes come with blue and yellow picnic tables that offer a place to rest if one is the size of an Ewok, but the price is right and hell, I’m in the Keys. Even though the sites are on top of each other, a break is caught as there are only two occupied and the guests are able to spread out enough to allow a little more privacy. While resting my chin on my knees at one of the mini-tables, a couple comes scouting for a site to spend the night. Craving age appropriate human interaction, small talk is made and a quick rapport is developed with the semi-spring breakers. Down from Daytona, Nick and his fiancée, Janelle, are about to spend a few days relaxing in the Keys.

Responsibilities for the preamble of the night fall upon the shoulders of the sun and in true form, the panoramic sunset does not disappoint as it tickles the masts of sailboats and washes their bows in radiant beauty. Accepting Nick and Janelle’s invitation to join them for drinks, after the sunset’s opening act, we walk down the road to The Big Chill, in search of a grouper sandwich and some ice cold brews. This not-so-easy rider is ready for some nightlife and the company of really cool people and that is exactly what I get. The beer is cold; the grouper sandwich is delicious and to top it off, is served by a waiter that resembles a 23 year old Norm MacDonald who is definitely living on “island time.” A couple more bars hit and then the night ends with a cap at the camp site. The night is more fun than a troupe of dancing poodles and deciding that all energy has been spent for one day, I retire to the tent with a light head.

During the previous night’s festivities, Nick and Janelle graciously extended the invitation to join them on a snorkeling excursion, which was eagerly accepted. Having such a great time with the two of them, the decision is made to extend the stay here an additional night. Sleeping was difficult as the polyester, 20 degree down bag and heat reflecting sleeping pad are not made for such tropic climate. Managing to squeak out a mere 4 hours, the day starts slowly and recovery comes in the form of sunshine, swimsuits and a leisurely pace, which trumped a waking headache with force. Lounging around, campers have coolers and grills filled with and sizzling up bacon and eggs which brings on a heavy drool as the standard instant oatmeal and coffee is consumed. Seeing these treasure troves of culinary excellence brings on a rush of temporary envy and I envision opening a cooler full of delicacies is like opening Marcellus Wallace’s briefcase.

Post morning consumption, we head out to Pennekamp state park to hit up a snorkel tour and after the reservations and gear is secured, the boat is boarded with just a few minutes to spare. Given it’s the end of March, the water is still a bit chilly and while about half of the tour group dons wetsuits, there is a Dutch family that just won’t have it. They are so eager to prove their proclivity of cold water, it seems, that one older gentleman takes it to the next level and caresses the group’s eyes with a contrast of his ghostly white and beluga-like form strapped not-so-securely into a straining, black Speedo. Resembling an upright walrus, the unfortunate soul casts only the appearance of the cold water conditioned mammal and is in and out of the gulf rather quickly. Just because one looks like a water mammal doesn’t mean one can act like a water mammal. Barracudas and conchs line the sea floor with other bright, colorful fish and sea life. Choppy seas lose their power while we snorkel on the sheltered side of the reef, time flies quickly, the trip is a success and we head back to the camp to do what those in the Keys do best. Relax.

Later that evening, after dinner and a small campfire, we imbibe, talk, get to know one another a bit better and raise the same curiosities regarding a myriad of people going into the woods with nets, buckets, never to emerge again. Curiosity gets the better of us, and upon inquiry of one of these woodland creatures, come to find out that the moon is full, the time is right and they are heading to the channel to catch fresh shrimp. Upon further inquiry, one of the shrimpers explains that it’s really quite easy to catch them. One shines a flashlight into the waters below and when two glowing amber eyes pop out on the surface, simply dip in the net and place the caught shrimp in your catch bucket. This is awesome; all three of us are excited to get on this shrimping wagon, only there are two problems. Neither a bucket nor a net are in our immediate future. Or so we think. After a half-assed attempt to make a net out of a grocery bag and stick, we borrow one from a neighboring camper. It’s just past midnight now, and we head to the channel to get our share of edible booty. After about an hour of shrimping and unsuccessful night fishing, we take our haul of 2 dozen back to the camp, throw them in some foil with butter and garlic salt and lay the sea treasures on the grill. THE best shrimp I have ever eaten. It was a little disconcerting, putting them on the grill and watching the foil dance like a tin of jiffy-pop, but well worth the disturbing scene.

Nick and Janelle certainly made my introduction to the Keys memorable. Some of the most giving, sharing and hospitable people that will be met on this excursion, I know that we’ll keep in touch long after the trip is over and am glad to have made new friends. But for now, I must leave and continue trickling down the Keys.

A great, lifelong friend from back home gets wind that I’m in the Keys and sets me up with some friendly faces for a day or two. Chris’ fiancée Rachel is on a girl’s week down in the Keys, and having just finished up the more luxurious part of their trip in Key West, will be camping at Fiesta Key and have passed on an invite to join them for a bit. On the way to meet the ladies, a quick stop is made at the well-known Islamorada Fish Company for some fish tacos. The restaurant itself is incredible with seating on the dock and a lagoon in between the bar and the seating, complete with swimming critters to occupy one’s attention while the food is being prepared. It’s a good thing too, because on this rainy day (which provides some nice shelter while the storm plays out), the service is extraordinarily slow and the tacos are sub-par. At first a bit of agitation sets in, but quickly the realization of island time is gained, muscles relax and the chair embraces the full weight of my back. A smile sets in.

Winds gust with the ferocity that only those from the ocean can and clouds continue to threaten angrily while Betty growls down the 1 to lay a little rubber during the afternoon and explore this part of the Keys in anticipation of the Cougar Van’s arrival at the campsite. Rachel, AbbyJo, Morgan and Selena welcome me with open arms as we take shelter behind the Volkswagen van that blocks the wind so that conversation can be had. Conversation isn’t the bubble-gum type of talk that usually accompanies relative strangers, but dives into deeper realms of substance and life appreciation and it’s satisfyingly exhausting and makes the time pass quickly. The sun goes down and the ladies retire to their quarters and set me up in the back of the van and it’s a relief to be sleeping in a space that doesn’t have moveable walls.

Farm fresh eggs and home brewed coffee sizzle, pop and boil the morning into lazy day by the pool, complete with fruity, newly concocted rum drinks with fresh coconut milk and strawberries. A few hours of this repeated activity, the morning turns into afternoon and the ladies extend an invitation to stay another night. Torn between not wanting to interrupt their vacation and the coconut buzz swimming in my head, with no clear agenda I agree without too much arm twisting and the day slowly bakes on. The couple camping next to their group is of Russian origin, but now lives just outside of Chicago and are extremely amiable. Seeing us up on the deck of the pool, they come up to talk and we invite them to a lounge chair and fruity rum drink of their own. Many factors could have led to the events that were to come, but I am going to chalk it up to plain old frenzied excitement of meeting new friends and looking forward to good times. Paul is talking with the group, near the edge of the pool, standing at my four o’clock. Peripheral vision screams out a red alert as he dives into the shallow water and I whir around to, I don’t know… shout, grab his waist band, watch in horror. Tragedy splashes into the water and Paul’s legs stick perpendicular out of the 4 foot water, seemingly forever. Stunned, we all look to the pool to see what is going to happen next. He flips himself upright and there is an instant of relief, until shoulders shrugged in pain, a face dominating wince and gash on the top of his head tell another story. Everyone plays a role, without verbal direction and we whirl into action. Within minutes, we have him pool side, paramedics are called and we give him a quick once over. Can you wiggle your toes? Yes. Where does it hurt? Between my shoulders. What is your name? Paul. What day is it? We're on vacation, I’m not sure.

Luckily, a firefighter/paramedic is on holiday with his family, but has just gone out on a jet-ski. His wife waves him in with a telepathy that only a husband and wife can have and immediately our good-willed responsibilities are taken over by a professional until the local authorities arrive. Paul is put into a collar, loaded into an ambulance and taken to the local medical facility while Morgan and Abby jump in the van with Paul’s fiancée, Marina, whose broken English and lack of drivers license would leave her stranded on an island of worry. X-rays reveal a broken neck and warrants a first-class ticket on a med-flight copter to the hospital in Miami, which later will be a second trip to a specialist in Chicago. If not for the calm and rational responses of the girls, this crisis would have ended up terribly; as undoubtedly, Paul would have simply gone back to the tent to lie down, where greater tragedy could have been waiting for the most unexpected time to strike. They turned the outcome of this horrible even into the best possible and I applaud them.


That night, these four incredible women continue to teach lessons of the more important aspects of life; agriculture, sustainability and furthering personal education while preparing a dinner of home-grown parsnips, carrots, ginger, potatoes and other tasty treats. They bring this over to the campground’s resident entertainer, Radar, who will be grilling up some venison and burgers to top off a feast of Queens and Kings. Radar may just have about the biggest heart out of anyone that I have met in my life. His life is simple, complete, content and exactly the way he wants it to be. The site where he lives is an island paradise, complete with tiki bar, fire pit, karaoke tent and camper trailer all led to via a pier post and nautical rope lined walkway through a yard proudly flying the stars and stripes. A former Army soldier, Radar’s life is lived the way he wants it and is, as far as I’m concerned, the most successful man in the world, for finding his true self and his true way of being. Everyone stops by Radar’s landing zone for the after-dark party and with good reason. It’s good times and great people in true island style.

The next day, word comes from Marina regarding Paul’s move to Chicago and Morgan and Abby make the 3 hour drive to Miami to pick her up from the hospital, but their selfless acts do not stop here. Not only do they drive up and back, but all four women cut their vacation short to drive Marina and all their gear back to the Chicago area, which is a short stop on the way home and Rachel keeps me updated via text. Remarkable, all of them, and once again fortune has smiled upon me with the friendship of such incredible humans being.

This all happens after my departure from the grounds and lunch of Conch burger at the Cracked Conch Café. The pit stop once again proves the small world theory when I meet a friend of a friend from Glen Ellyn, IL. Eaves dropping in on their lunch, the name Chicago floats over to my ears. Inquiry is made and after some conversation and the fortuitous discovery of a mutual friend, I am invited to stay the night in the family’s condo. It’s amazing, the small world theory, but if eaves had not been dropped and had no conversation been initiated these cosmic links would have not been made. The experience proves that when traveling, either solo or in company, keep your ears and eyes open to all possibilities because you never know what good fortune or good advice may find you.

Nearly a month and a half on the road now and thoughts turn towards home, family, work and the thoughts of what life will be like upon returning to Chicago. More of a curiosity than a longing, these wonderings swim inside my head and I contemplate if it’s too early in the excursion for this. The value of humanity, kindness, patience and tolerance grows infinitely stronger the longer that the road holds me. Increasing cooperation, as I bear witness to the way travelers work selflessly together, with a smile and offer assistance to those in need, even if not asked for. The way travelers interact and help each other is a powerful lesson and is often preached in corporate America, but seldom practiced. This is just one of the many examples that I hope to incorporate in my way of life and will stick for future use, not just be left in the miles behind me.

Known for being a world of its own, bathed in rich history, sunsets, margaritas and whom I call the “most interesting man alive,” Ernest Hemingway, Key West calls and it’s time to answer. A sign points to the Key deer sanctuary and having never seen one of these mini-stags, an immediate right is taken through No Name Key. Winding though with no real direction, fortune smiles and the street turns into another sign, this one saying “You’ve Found It.” The No-Name Pub. A recommendation that had been forgotten, it’s a nice break in the day to stop for a grouper sandwich. The pub is dark, dingy and delicious. The walls furry with hanging dollar bills decades old that resemble a fuzzy piñata. Patrons of past visits inscribe their names, witty sayings and pledge allegiances to favorite sports teams on these singles, then staple them to any spot in the pub they can. I, of course, can not resist a bit of shameless self-promotion, so the inscribing of Ride the Edge occurs and this Washington is stapled directly above the first barstool on the left, in front of the entrance. This is the type of place that one could hang out all day and throw a lot back in and the experience is sweetened when I look to the left and see the “Harley Davidson Parking Only” sing. The sandwich was excellent, but they are known for their pizza and another visit in the future is a must.

As I ride the highways and byways of America, frequently, other bikers are passed; Hondas, BMWs, Victory, you name it. I look at these bikes with minimal interest and vague curiosity. There is so much Harley Davidson pride pumping through these lines that no other bike is worth a head turn. As the 1 rolls down to Key West, something is unsettling and it takes a few miles to determine what it is. Bikers are everywhere in Florida, yet for some reason, this state yields the least amount of biker waves yet. Throwing out the two fingers, low-five or HD “V”, reciprocation is few and far between. My only guess for this seeming lack of cordiality is that it is indeed a vacation spot and perhaps most bikers are renting, unfamiliar with the bikes they ride, therefore uncomfortable taking their hands off of the bars. This, of course, is just a hypothesis.

Key West is next. A world all its own and a separate spirit from the rest of the island chain, it’s deserving of it’s own post. To come…

“The bike may break me. The road may take me. I’ll forever be alive knowing that I followed the road paved by my heart.”