‘On a cycle the frame is gone’

My passion for motorcycle travel started with a book. I first read 'Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance' when I was in my early twenties. Robert Pirsig's autobiographical novel tells the story of a father and son’s 17-day motorcycle trip on a 1966 Honda Super Hawk from Minneapolis to San Francisco in 1968. It wasn't an easy read but I came to the following conclusions after turning the last page. First, I was going to learn how to ride a motorcycle. Second, with absolute certainty I knew nothing more about metaphysics, Zen Buddhism, or motorcycle mechanics. Not a clue. I read it again in my thirties and forties and came away with a much deeper appreciation for the story’s purpose and meaning. 

Thanks to a friend who loaned me his older model Kawasaki Vulcan cruiser, I learned how to ride a motorcycle while stationed in northern Italy. Within a few days he taught me how to control the clutch, shift gears, and ride figure 8's between fighter jet hangars on a U.S./NATO military base. Just one week later, I completed the safety course required to get my motorcycle license. I was still in no way a motorcycle rider. But I was committed to the process and purchased my first bike soon after, dedicating every Sunday morning to improve my technique and riding skill. The biggest challenges to overcome involved riding in Italian traffic and navigating rural roads. After a few months of practice I had the confidence to venture out on mountain roads in the Dolomites traveling through small town squares where I'd stop for some of the best cappuccinos I've ever had. Riding a Harley Davidson Softail at the time with only a speedometer on the dash my phone became my sole navigation system.  Cell reception was spotty at best weaving through mountain passes and into dark tunnels with only my headlight to guide me to the other side.  An added challenge was a low running phone battery forcing me in a panicked state to find a quick way home before getting totally lost. Needless to say I had to find a different approach with solo rides to make them more enjoyable.

One Sunday instead of programming my phone with a destination I shut it off, removed it from the handle bar mount, and put it in my jacket pocket. With no planned route and only a generalized direction in mind I let the first 4-lane roundabout guide me.  Focusing on a mountain range in the distance I rode toward it. So fixated on it I nearly crossed into Austria.  After 250 kilometers and a fuel stop I took out my fully charged phone, attached it to the handle bar mount and followed the GPS directions back home.  Riding without navigation was a raw experience filled with an exhilaration that made me want to keep going. So often I found myself in small towns and villages that I never heard of or planned to visit.  Other times I’d find myself on dirt roads in the middle of nowhere between vineyards and corn fields.  I didn't know what I enjoyed more, the unexpected journey or the feeling of being lost, free to ride without a destination. With fewer distractions I listened to the motor hum and became one with the bike, the road, and the spectacular mountain landscapes. Living in Arizona now, I no longer have cell phone battery or GPS limitations but I still enjoy getting lost sometimes. 

Some say when people reach a career milestone or pinnacle in their life they can look back to a moment in time when the spark started, when the seed was planted. I am nowhere near the top of any mountain - I prefer to ride through them these days, but I do know my passion for motorcycles started with a book I read 25 years ago.  Without giving the story away, Zen is about more than just a motorcycle trip and maintenance.  It’s about self awareness, connection, ego, technological ugliness, and the definition of quality as it relates to values.  The purpose of this logbook is to share my thoughts and experiences related to motorcycle travel and my favorite routes and campsites that I’ve found while riding all over Arizona.  And some really interesting people I've met along the way. Many who inspired me to follow the path I am currently on. 

I've met a lot of motorcycle enthusiasts since retiring from the Air Force. Most from a wide cross section of age groups and professions with different backgrounds and perspectives.  I've noticed after getting to know one another that we share common ground, a rarity these days in our society. We love to talk about the bikes we ride or used to own - one guy who I recently met just bought his 98th motorcycle.  We share the stories of our latest adventures and the ones we have planned. We don't pass judgement for riding what we like and enjoy each others' company around a campfire usually with an adult beverage in hand.  Most of us connect with the freedom and independence that riding on two wheels provides. And I found through my interactions a like-mindedness when it comes to living our lives in a similar way.  We push ourselves to do hard things.  We accept that failure is always an option.  And we choose to live in the present each turn at a time, momentarily reflecting back on how we could have cornered better, taken a different line, braked differently, or adjusted our head position. Then we apply the necessary adjustments to the turn ahead striving to be better than we were on the last.  I'll close with the full quote from Robert Pirsig's novel, the moment when my motorcycle journey began.
 
"On a cycle the frame is gone.
You're completely in contact with it all.  
You're in the scene,
Not just watching it anymore,
And the sense of presence is overwhelming."

Friuli-Venezia Giulia Region, Northern Italy - Harley Davidson FLSS Softail Slim S