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A realization ~ Why hadn’t I noticed this ~ Never a long day
Sep 26th, 2009 by masukomi

I was thinking about my trip and had one of those awesome, yet so simple, realizations.

I never had a “long day” on the bike. Like many of you, I sit in my cube day in and day out, and by three o’clock on most of those days it’s already feeling long, and my brain just starts thinking about going home. But that never happened on the bike. Even when I was ridding ten hours a day I can’t remember a single day that felt “long”. Sure, on some of them my shoulder muscles were really hurting badly for hours on end, but mentally it never felt like a long day. There were boring times, and frustrating times, but never times when you were just desperate for it to end. And what an *amazing* thing that is.

Ten years ago I’d loose myself in programming; disappear for the better part of a day into code. But it’s hard for me to find projects like that any more. And I realize that even if I don’t find what I’m looking for on my next trip, I’ll have had a couple months of days that were never “too long”. Maybe more if I don’t stop riding. ;)

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Looking for something
Sep 26th, 2009 by masukomi

Transcript:
Ever since the trip was done, I’ve wanted more.

It’s not that the trip was so wonderful that I want to recapture it. It’s that in nearly six thousand miles of riding I never found what I was looking for.

I keep thinking that it was too easy. That through all of that, there was no real challenge. The roads are all pretty much perfect. There’s no real risk of running out of gas in the United States. Breaking down? So what? Grab your cell and a tow truck will be along in a couple hours at the most. Fell down and broke your leg? No worries, even if you’re out of cell phone range a car drives by every ten minutes or so. Even driving down a dirt road through the badlands that doesn’t exist on the gps, has no towns, or any good reason for being traveled I kept encountering more cars…

So, I’ve set my sights on Africa. I’m thinking of participating in the Africa Rally put on by The Adventurists. Take a totally inappropriate motorcycle from London to Cameroon. But half of that distance is across the equally unchallenging roads of Europe, so I’m thinking that when I hit the end, I’ll just continue on down until I hit South Africa. That, surely, would be a “real adventure”.

But, I wonder if, even in traveling the length of Africa, I would discover what I was looking for. I think I would love the experience, surely, and I would find a real challenge, if nothing else, but where will I be at the end of it?

Will it be enough?

I’m worried. I’m looking for something within myself, but I don’t know what.

I think I’m looking for what’s next. The next stage of my life. Will I find that on the road?

Will I find someone to share it with?

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Microlight Solo ~ Two weeks and change on the ground ~ Final Impressions
Sep 20th, 2009 by masukomi
Quick summary:
I set this tent up and took it down every day for over two weeks and thought it was excellent. I will be taking it on my next adventure.
The details:
I figured that camping was “the way to do it”. I’d save money, and remain a bit more in contact with the world than if i’d of stayed in motels on my trip, so I need a tent.
I hoped on my bike and drove about a hundred and fifty miles up to the L.L. Bean store in Maine. Sure I could have hopped on the subway and gone to the local R.E.I., but hey L.L. Bean’s been at this a lot longer, has a much cooler place to visit, and… road trip! And, to be fully up front. I’d read some good reviews of the L.L. Bean Microlight Solo on their site and just wanted to see one in person.
When I finally made my way to the tent section I encountered an incredibly helpful salesman, whose name I’ve totally forgotten (sorry), who confirmed my thoughts on it discussed a few of other tent options, and suggested that I get the $15 “Footprint”  to go with it, but made it clear that it wasn’t a requirement, but that I’d probably want to put down a plastic bag or something under the tent if I didn’t have it to keep it from being damaged by the scratchy rocks and sticks and such I’d be compressing under myself, and to act as a moisture barrier. I think it was worth every penny. But first, the tent itself.
This is, unquestionably, a one-man tent. As in, one person who’s in shape. If you’re…. “generously padded” this is NOT the tent for you. Two thin people could probably fit if they were willing to lay on their sides and spoon each other. Also, because of the shape you can only sit up just inside the doorway. I’m 5′9″ and I didn’t have any problems with this, although I did occasionally brush my head when placing or removing anything from down by my feet, or if I sat up in my sleeping bag I’d have to scoot back towards the entrance.
This small size is actually one of the reasons I chose the tent. Small size means less material, a smaller bag, and less weight; all things which are critical on a motorcycle trip. When I first got it home I attempted to set it up in my living room just to get a feel for it, but having not set up a tent in well over fifteen years I was rather surprised at how dramatically tent-tech has changed. First off, it’s not a free-standing tent. It simply won’t stay erected if you don’t pound in the tent-pegs. This isn’t a bad thing for most of North America, it just means no living room test-runs, sand and snow would probably be quite difficult without specialized tent pegs, and you definitely can’t set it up on a large flat rock. You’ll need soil. There are two poles, which are made from tubes of aluminum with an elastic cord run through them to keep them together, and help them snap easily into place as you’re combining them into one long tube; an act that takes about five seconds. Unlike the tents of yesteryear you don’t bend them slightly to fit through some straps on the tent. No, you stick one end through a grommet in the tent, then bend it far beyond anything that seems sensible, until the other end finally approaches the grommet on the opposite side of the tent. Then, you do the same thing for the other pole. It’s not hard, it’s just a bit disturbing to someone who isn’t used to this new world order.
Then, you lift up one of the poles, pull a series of plastic hooks over it, pound in a peg or two, and repeat at the other end. I found the easiest way to do it was to erect one pole, push in one tent peg, then step on, or press far side of the tent down while you grab and lift the other pole. Once you’ve got the far one lifted pound in the diagonally opposite tent peg. Congratulations you’ve just done the bare minimum required to raise this tent. I wouldn’t recommend stopping there but it’s pretty impressive that with two tent pegs you’ve got your tent up. A little floppy at the unpegged corners but hey….  Then just move around the tent putting in the rest of the pegs. The footprint matches the base of the tent exactly, has its own grommets that the poles also go through, and some loops for the tent pegs to pass through directly under the ones for the tent.
Once you’ve done that you now have a mosquito netting tent up with a waterproof base and a full view of the world. If you’d like some privacy, or expect rain, throw the rain fly over it and shove in a couple pegs. The rain fly also creates a little alcove in front of the door under which you can set things you want out of sight, or protected from the rain, but don’t want in the main body of the tent. There is a gap between the netting and the rain fly and this is a very important feature. Your body heat is going to cause condensation to form on the inside of any tent (assuming there’s water in the air to condense) but in a tent like this it forms on the rain fly which won’t end up getting you or your gear wet because of the gap. It simply forms on and runs down the inside of the fly to the ground without ever touching you. Unfortunately the fly tended to sag slightly between the two poles so there was about eight square inches of space in the middle of the tent where they did make contact. This was never a problem even on the most dewey of mornings but it shouldn’t have been happening.  Casually putting up the tent, while pausing to listen to the insects and look at pretty views still took less than 8 minutes from start to finish, including putting all my stuff in it after it was up.
The slight sag of the rain fly was most likely because of the one badly designed element of the tent. At the foot end of the rain fly are two pieces of webbing. Each has a loop at the end for a tent peg to go through and runs through a plastic length adjuster thing. The problem is that no matter how much you shortened the adjuster never held it. I ended up looping the webbing around the adjuster and that was almost the right length. While certain parts of the fly get their own tent pegs there were no pegs for these so you had to put the end loop over one of the pegs used for the base. This would have worked perfectly if the adjusters worked, but they didn’t so it didn’t pull with quite enough tension on the top and you end up with that little sag in the middle. So, if you do get this tent my recommendation would be to purchase two more of the thin aluminum tent pegs that this tent uses. Then you can just put them at the end of the webbing and pull it as taught as you need to.
Space and Comfort:
I am 5′9″ tall and about 145 lbs. I had enough space for me, my one piece riding suit down along my side, my Camelbak M.U.L.E NV on one side of my head, my walking shoes and assorted other small junk by the other side (flashlight, iPhone, a small tupperware of food, etc), a pillow (actually my pants and high-vis vest rolled up), my full-face motorcycle helmet to the left of my feet and my riding boots to the right of my feet. My glasses went in one of the two mesh pockets that are right by your hands when you lay down and seem designed for just such a usage. Those pockets were a perfect little touch. After taking my sleeping bag out of the dry-sack I’d stick it in the alcove (it had a book, notebooks, and an emergency set of dry clothes still in it) and have space on the other side of the alcove that I pretty much never used.
The comfort was fine. It was wide enough that you could curl into a fetal position without trouble and laying there in the morning watching the silhouettes of leaf shadows on the rain fly was nice. You didn’t feel cramped in there. However, I would note that owing to the fact you can only sit up by the doorway you really wouldn’t want to be stuck in there hiding from the rain all day. That wasn’t a concern for me since I ride rain or shine. Also, obviously, this tent is not for anyone who is claustrophobic.
Tear-Down tip:
The rain fly is made of some incredibly slippery parachute fabric. When you roll it up it’s really difficult to get it to stay rolled up nicely as you’re trying to get it in the bag. It just wants to slide out of itself. The solution I found was to roll up the tent (mosquito netting and base) so that you have a rectangle slightly shorter than the bag and about half again as wide with the base out. do the same for the rain fly, then fold that in half again and stick it on top of the base. Then roll the base around the rain fly so that when you’re holding it with one hand there is only the base material exposed to your hand to grip.
For the Footprint: fold it into a rectangle as tall as the bag and whatever width, then roll.
Main points:
  • Extremely light-weight and compact when packed up. I could easily roll it up smaller than the bag it lived in and there was plenty of space in there for the pegs, poles, and the footprint.
  • So easy to put up you can do it in the dark. If you’re familiar with how all the pieces go together. I did it once in the pitch black since dealing with the flashlight too was distracting, and a couple times as I raced the last rays of sunlight.
  • Enough space for you, some gear around your head, and some by your feet.
  • Get the Footprint. It’s worth the $15 for the convenience of all its perfectly placed connectors, folds up very small and can fit in the tent bag.
  • Buy two additional thin tent pegs to compensate for the bad adjusters on the rear of the rain fly.
Assorted notes:
  • I’ve taken the tent down in a strong wind. I was very surprised to find that it wasn’t a hassle at all. There’s simply not enough fabric for it to be a big deal.
  • Owing to extenuating circumstances I never actually used it in the rain, but according to the reviews on the site it performs excellently. I would not doubt this in the least.
  • There’s some velcro on the outside of the rain-fly along the zipper. I am not sold on this. I’m sure they put it there because of some wind issue but whatever their decision was it never became apparent to me and occasionally gave me a trivial amount of annoyance when dealing with the zipper. This is totally nit-picking I admit.
  • The elastic cord through the tent pole sections really made them trivial to put together. You could almost grab one end, wave it in the air and listen to the pieces snap snap snap into place… almost. In reality you can do it with your eyes closed, or better yet, while paying attention to the beautiful scenery you’ve found yourself in. Taking them apart is just as easy.

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I almost Forgot ~ Buffs make everything better ~ Great comfort item
Sep 17th, 2009 by masukomi

So, In my list of items in my kit ( http://masukomi.posterous.com/write-up-on-my-kit-the-things-that-worked-and )  I totally forgot to mention my Buffs. This is most likely due to the fact that I wear them every day anyway so I don’t really think about them much. 

One around the neck. Kept it from getting to chilly and I hate the feeling of those tiny bugs that seem to manage to ping off your throat from time to time. 70 mph mosquito impact on an exposed throat is not a pleasant feeling. On the cold wet day when I was driving through a cloud I swapped it for a polar buff. As expected, it was perfect. 

One over my hair, well, most of my hair. It kept stray strands from sneaking out and annoying my eyes when I put the helmet on, or while driving down the road. Also, made it possible to move in the tiny one-skinny-person tent, because without one my nearly waist-length hair would have been totally obscuring my vision and getting under my hands, and generally being a pain in the ass. When I road the bottom of my hair was shoved down into my suit because if I leave it out in the wind it instantly turns into a mass of knots, and I forgot to pack my brush. 

Yes, it’s one of those inventions that seems “duh”, but so is the nail, and yet somehow they’re both still awesome. 

I think I might get a Typhoon Buff for the next adventure…

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Write-up on my kit ~ The things that worked and didn’t. ~ What I’ll change next time.
Sep 16th, 2009 by masukomi

Some of you, mostly the motorcycle geeks reading this, will be curious about the kit I used on the trip, what worked, and what didn’t.

I laid out the initial batch of it with detailed notes on flickr (click the image to go to flickr and see the notes) There were a number of items added afterwards.
What worked:
  • The iPhone was wicked useful but I had no service, or no data service for so much of the time that the built in map app was useless and I ended up buying the TomTom app since it keeps all its maps locally. The battery life was fairly sucky though, and the video capture is totally useless when mounted to a bike. The vibrations make the picture look like it was shot from within a running front-load washing machine. Listening to audio-books on it rocked, especially when driving through mile after mile of corn and in those hours when the sun has set, so you can’t see anything, but you’re not tired yet.
  • The L.L. Bean Microlight Solo tent was superb. So well designed that I was able to put it together in the dark the first time out in the wild. I didn’t end up using it in the rain, but i think setting up, or tearing down, any tent in the rain must suck. At least tearing this one down can be done pretty quickly, and I did do that in strong winds hoping to beat an approaching storm.
  • The $2 net from bikebandit.com held everything down but would have been mediocre at best if not for the Carabiners.
  • The 5 Carabiners were an excellent addition to the kit. 1 at each of the front corners of the net, plus one one each side to give it a redundant attachment to the saddlebags and to go through the loops at the end of the tent bag and the dry bag, so that even if the net came loose somehow (it didn’t) the things it held down wouldn’t go flying. For a while I put one through the handle of the gas can to attach it to the net but I came up with a different solution later. They also acted as a simple thing to hang my helmet from when I went into some place to eat. I used the locking one for that to make it a bit more difficult for a would-be thief.
  • The wind-up flashlight was awesome and surprisingly bright.
  • Sea To Summit Evac Dry Sac ( http://www.seatosummit.com/products/display/64 ) I got the 35 liter one and kept my sleeping bag in it. As the trip went on more things started living there too. The clipped loop at the top went through a carabiner to be sure it couldn’t fly off even if I lost my net.
  • Spork! I got it because it was neat. It turned out to be totally useful. It’s not obvious from the pics but one of the fork end’s tines has a serrated edge to use as a knife. http://lightmyfireusa.com/spork.html
  • Swiss Army Knife. One of those nice fat ones.
  • Reusable ear plugs were great. Far better than the foam ones since you don’t have to stand around waiting for them to expand in your ears and then re-attempt if there’s still a gap. I knew this before but using them that frequently really convinces you of the advantage.
  • Odwala Bars were great. I wish I could have found more when I finally ran out. Cheap, not overly sweet, and I liked most of the flavors.
  • Medium bicycle hand-pump was excellent. About 20 pumps per pound of air pressure. I rarely had to put in more than a few pounds per tire. Don’t forget that air expands as you go up in altitude. Was letting air out as I approached Colorado, then putting it back in as I made my way from it.
  • Fieldsheer Highland II suit. I thought I’d boil in it. Most of the time though, even in 80+ degree weather, I had it zipped up all the way with just the air vents open. In Wyoming i even put in the winter liner. It was about 53 degrees and I was riding through the bowels of a cloud at 70+Mph. Only real complaint was that the left knee pad on mine is positioned too far to the right so it wouldn’t really help me in a crash. http://weblog.masukomi.org/2008/05/03/fieldsheer-highland-ii-review
  • The CamelBak Mule NV was excellent. The built in rain-cover worked perfectly and having the water on my back available whenever I felt like it made an amazing difference. It was also really nice to be able to reach over and grab the tube to get a drink of water from it in the middle of the night. I did have some complaints related to it on the trip but they weren’t really failings of the Camelback. The discomfort was more due to bike ergonomics, personal muscle weirdness, and the weight of the water but there’s nothing you can do about water weighing what it weighs. A camelback tank-bag would be awesome. I’ve only seen one (knock-off brand) and it didn’t look good.
  • Zip-lock disposable tupperware thing (sandwich sized). I’d stick my leftovers in this, and throw them in my CamelBak. Don’t think I bought dinner once the entire trip thanks to this.
  • Scala Rider Q2. It took a lot of fiddling over many days before I finally got the speakers exactly against my ears but once I finally did it was excellent. You’d have that problem with any set though. I played mp3s through it with the bluetooth paired to my phone and in standby for 3 full days (8-10 hours each) of riding on one charge and it still had juice. People seem to be able to understand me just fine on it when they call, although they seem oddly reluctant to call me if they know I’m on the bike, which is sad. I would have liked to hear from them.
  • Pamprin. Nothing kills headaches better. Although staying hydrated meant headaches really weren’t a problem. Pretty much only needed it when suffering from altitude sickness as I came in to Colorado.
  • REI sleeping bag. it was rated for 35 degrees Fahrenheit but, sleeping naked in it, I got chilly, but not cold, in the mid forties and low fifties. I wish there was some standard way sleeping-bag temperatures were rated. I wouldn’t have been chilly if i was wearing anything though. On warm nights it was a bit too much and I ended up oscillating between too hot and too cool, trying to figure out just how much of your body to leave exposed to balance out the heat from the covered bits, which was complicated by not having a pad under it which limited the number of comfortable positions.
  • The Tour Master boot covers worked great, but I lost one, bought a replacement pair, and then found the one I thought I’d lost.
Things I never used but was glad to have:
  • Tire repair kit.
  • Small roll of Duct Tape
  • First Aid kit. I’ll be replacing it with a soft bag next time though. The hard plastic was obnoxiously inflexible when I needed to shove it in or pull it out of my bags to get to other things.
  • Jumper cables
  • Siphon
  • Umbrella
Things I’m unsure about the value of:
  • Tie Downs. http://www.bikebandit.com/bikebandit-com-premium-tie-downs-with-soft-tie-loop-pair Theoretically these would have been useful if I’d needed to throw it into someone’s truck bed, or maybe if it fell down a big ditch or got stuck somehow I could have attached them to the bike and a tree and used the little ratchet to help pull it up. Theoretically…
  • The moleskines got soaked. New rule: all paper products must live in a dry bag. Even so, I tended to not stop riding until sunset so I didn’t really have any time to use them before it was dark.
  • More than 2 changes of clothes. The extra socks were great, but I think I enjoy fresh socks more than most. Really though I only wore 2 shirts the whole time because I was smelly anyway and it’s not like anyone saw i’d been wearing the same shirt for a week. If I got a chance to shower at night I’d just wear the one i had on and soap it up and rinse it out before taking it off and cleaning me. Leave it to dry for morning. The drying by morning didn’t always pan out.
  • iPhone RAM mount. I got it thinking i’d take video while driving. As mentioned the vibrations made that unworkable (not the mount’s fault). It’s decent if you’re going to use your iphone as a GPS but if you do that you better have somewhere to plug in the phone. Plus you can’t work an iPhone with gloves on, and you don’t want to leave it there if it’s raining. Mostly, I didn’t use the mount and just kept the phone in my pocket so there wasn’t a cord going out between me and the bike. The mount was well made but ultimately kind-of useless for an iPhone. Maybe I’ll get a camera base for it instead.
Meh
  • Winter Gloves. I thought I might need them in the rockies. I never used them. I guess it depends where you’re going and when.
Things I wish I’d had:
  • One of those helmets with a clear visor but a slide-up tinted layer. A couple times I ended up riding past sunset and it just wasn’t worth digging out the clear visor and swapping it so I just rode with the tinted visor opened up.  Or, maybe a dual-sport helmet with one of those over-hanging sun-visors that dirt-bike helmets all have.
  • Somewhere on the bike to plug in the phone.
  • A real GPS system. TomTom Rider or, better yet, Garmin Zumo.
  • Somewhere on the bike to plug in a gps.
  • V.O.I. POV Helmet Camera. http://www.vio-pov.com/ I am definitely getting one for my next adventure. I think it’s the only good camera like it with an audio-in so you can have a real mic instead of just recording wind-noise like most of them do.
  • One of those rolls of foam padding for under your sleeping bag. Or, better yet, one of those ones that folds into a 3D rectangle and has an egg-carton like texture. Definitely getting one of those for next time too. Sometimes the ground is freaking uncomfortable. I don’t trust air mattress and you’d waste time filling and emptying them every day
  • zip-ties. I didn’t end up needing them but I think they’d be a really good thing to have.
  • A companion.
Things that didn’t work:
  • Fieldsheer Expander Saddlebags. There weren’t many options that would work on my bike. These sagged a little farther every day and let everything in them get damp. The rain covers are a joke. They will try and fly off at the first opportunity. The stitching along the main zipper started to come undone on one of them after a few days, and that was the side with less stuff in it. The way the zipper opens is really annoying because it well… doesn’t really. I mean, the zipper works, and there’s an opening, but it’s like trying to pack a suitcase through the end of a manilla envelope. Also, it’s not at all obvious what they expect you to do with some of the pieces it comes with, they don’t provide a manual, and when I e-mailed them the pdf manual they sent me was only semi-helpful. Also, it was missing one rain-cover when it came from the factory, which turned out to be not much of a loss since they don’t want to stay on anyway. Fieldsheer did end up sending me a replacement for the missing one though. So, yay customer service. Also, while it was easy to lock them to my bike via a bicycle cable-lock, and I rarely needed to take them off, I never felt my belongings were really safe from prying hands (not that there were any). Next time I’m going with aluminum panniers. It just wasn’t an option on this bike though. To be honest, the saddlebags didn’t suck. They were mediocre. If I had to use them again I’d put down a piece of hard plastic across the bottom to keep them from sagging in the middle.
  • Trailer Life Directory RV Road Atlas. The map indicates what towns have campgrounds / rv parks near them, but then you have to go to the index in the back to see what’s there, and there’s no phone number, address or anything else for any of them. So, you know they’re around there somewhere but that’s about it. Without the iPhone to look them up i’d have been screwed.  Also, pages started falling out the second time I opened it, in the end I decided that was a good thing because I just started ripping out the page(s) for the current day’s state(s) in the morning. And it is unexpectedly huge. God what a piece of crap.
  • Energizer Energi to go iPod charger. Totally useless piece of crap. Maybe it works better on iPods, but it’s crap with an iPhone 3Gs. It would charge for a minute, then the voltage seemed to fluctuate and the phone would claim it was incompatible, then it would charge, then it wouldn’t. Each time it switched to wouldn’t it would wake the phone and waste it’s battery. It drained more power than it gave. Only worked well once.
  • The Aerostar GP Plus gloves stayed at home, and I’m about to put them on Craigslist. I thought they’d become more comfortable once I broke them in, and while they did slightly, they were never comfortable enough for a long ride. Instead I went with my no-name “Backup Gloves” which are just leather, some foam padding across the knuckles and kevlar across the palm. They’re no good at dampening vibration, and after riding through the pouring rain I was able to clench my fists and watch a stream of water squeeze forth from each one.
  • Unable to find some overgloves I got a pair of Joe Rocket Ballistic 6.0 waterproof gloves which I ended up hating. They had an inner glove that was essentially free floating and would bunch up at the finger tips, and make it hard to get your fingers to slide into the right holes when putting it on, and a nightmare if your hands were already damp. To make matters worse, they only kept me mostly dry. My hands still ended up feeling slightly damp.
  • Aerostar GP Plus gloves. Too uncomfortable. Left them at home
  • Knox Gilete Air back protector. Too bulky. Would have been a pain in the butt, hot, and unpackable. Went with the CE back armor built into my suit instead.
Things I’ll do differently next time:
  • Two Piece suit instead of a one piece. I’m thinking about the Aerostitch Darien.
  • Metal Panniers instead of textile.
  • More waterproofing (dry sacks inside the panniers probably).
  • Take the time to wire in some sort of power outlet if the bike doesn’t have one.
  • Get a Garmin GPS.
  • Get a different bike.
  • Get a better map.
  • Get better gloves (and some waterproof overgloves).
  • Find a bigger challenge. Africa’s looking better by the day.
  • Find a companion… I hope.

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The unexpected: ~ Sometimes it is a grand thing ~ Sometimes it’s simple
Sep 14th, 2009 by masukomi

I thought it would be a Grand Adventure. Something I would return from with tales of interesting events and intriguing sights. But it wasn’t like that at all. In fact, there wasn’t a whole lot to report on, on a day to day basis. I’d kind-of bemoaned that about Lois Price’s books. I enjoyed them, but it felt a bit like she’d left out so much. She’d cross entire countries only mentioning their existence in passing. “How could she leave out so much?!” I thought. It just doesn’t make any sense until you have a long adventure of your own that you understand. It’s the simple fact, that for the most part, not much happens on a motorcycle adventure, at least, not while things are going according to plan.

 It’s not that they’re boring, or uninteresting. It’s just that, unless something goes wrong, the vast majority of the time you spend on one is spent sitting in a saddle watching the landscape go by. I rode over mountains, through canyons, and clouds, and buffalo. And while I took lots of pictures of many the many interesting things, in the end, they’re essentially a collection of landscapes.

 

 For a while now I’ve been intrigued by the adventures put on by The Adventurists ( http://www.theadventurists.com ). One thing they emphasize on all of them is using vehicles that are wholly inappropriate for the task, and providing absolutely no support should your vehicle break down. On the page for their Rickshaw Run they write, “Support? Of course we don’t provide any support. The Rickshaw Run is supposed to be an adventure. What sort of adventure would you have if we were following you in a truck with spare parts and a comfy bed. No, no we must get out there into the world and get stuck in. When you’re stuck, lost, and up a certain creek without a rowing implement is when you start to have fun – and the last thing we want to do is stop you having fun! If you want a full support crew there’s a very nice place called Butlins based in Bognor Regis.”

 What I’ve learned now, is that they are 100% correct. I look back at my journey and realize that the most “interesting” parts of it, when I was actually faced with serious choices and events, were when things went wrong, or when things were anything but smooth. I loved taking my absurdly laden street bike up a dirt road through the rockies at elevations far above my carburetor’s tuning, with the very serious possibility, and near instance, of being crushed between truck and stone as they came flying around a blind canyon curves with no room to spare, or falling over the side of the cliff to my doom, but that just proves their point.

 

 I loved going through the Black Hills National Park. I was astounded by the beauty of it, but I’ll never forget riding through the middle of three buffalo herds on a motorcycle that always put them on edge, or seeing one running in a direction that seemed to be very much towards me. I loved the Badlands, but it was made forty times better by the fact that I could barely keep my bike upright at times on the very gravely road, that I had to ride most of it in the wrong lane, and when a car came towards me I had to slow to a near stop to cross over the eight inch mounds of loose gravel that my street tires were woefully unequipped to handle.

 


 I loved driving a hundred and fifty miles through empty lands and towns so small that the idea of anything as useful as a gas station was absolutely laughable, wondering if it would see a gas station before I ran out, thinking gratefully about that spare gallon and a half strapped to the rear seat.

 

 I look back at Lois’s books now and understand why they’re the way they are, because while I may have ridden through nearly four thousand miles of farmland there’s not a lot to tell you about it. How much does anyone want to hear about four thousand miles of corn, sunflowers, and random green things I can’t identify? Kansas was great, but the most noteworthy moment was when I pulled off the road to eat lunch near some grain silos, and watched two men come out from them to watch me eating a few hundred yards away.

 

 But, you can’t leave it at that. To do so would imply that more mundane bits spent riding between the complications are somehow unimportant, or not worth the time. But it is. I wrote before about how your motorcycle becomes home ( http://masukomi.posterous.com/today-was-the-last-it-started-off-in-a-cloud ) in a very real sense, not just because you have nowhere else to go. There’s something incredible about climbing onto a saddle that’s also your home and setting off on unknown roads. Especially on a motorcycle.

 Ted Simon, who wrote Jupiter’s Travels, said “I think the motorcycle is best because it puts you so much more in contact with everything. You experience much more closely the nature of the terrain and can almost taste the cultures that you’re riding through. Because it exposes you to the climate and to the wind and rain it’s a much more complete experience.”

 I’ve quoted that before, but it’s just so true. I think my trip through Wyoming’s plains might have been pretty boring in a car. But, there’s just such a huge difference between passing a curious windmill and passing a curious windmill after having felt that same wind pushing against you for hours. Racing towards the silhouetted edge of the cloud that is itself racing along the road is neat, but doing it after riding through the heart of its brother with water condensing and dripping from every exposed surface, after feeling the chill wind that’s blowing thirty five miles an hour against you, the windmill, and the cloud you’re racing, and knowing that when you reach that edge you’ll feel the sunlight again. Laughing with joy when you finally do… Laughing because it’s so suddenly warm, laughing because you raced a cloud, laughing because a tumbleweed suddenly blew across your path, something you’d only ever seen in Road-Runner cartoons and Western movies. “Tumbleweeds don’t really go rolling across the road in front of you.”, you thought.

 


 I loved sleeping in a tent, listening to the cicadas as I set it up, and noticing they’d all gone quiet, but that the chorus of insects was picked up by others and still going strong as I went to sleep wondering if any of the ants that had scampered around as I pounded in tent pegs would find a way in. Doing so wasn’t just the cheap option. It was the *right* option. To have used a motel every night would have left me so cut off from the world; as if the adventure were some safe video game that you could turn off at the end of the day. Even the sterilized campgrounds with their precisely laid out RV spots and electric hook ups felt wrong. I kept thinking of Wan, ( http://totalruckus.com/phpBB2/viewtopic.php?t=12143 ) a Korean guy who came to the US, bought a little 50cc scooter and circumnavigated the lower 48 states, finding places to hide his tent, when he wasn’t shacking up with strangers from a message board. I kept thinking that if my bike wasn’t neon green and was either light enough to be carried when stuck, like his, or capable of real off-roading, I would have totally done some sneak-camping too.

 

 I loved going three days with no electricity, every night trying to figure out how to keep my iPhone going one more day so that I’d be able to check the GPS if I needed to, something which would drain the battery in an hour and a half, or record my nearly daily audio posts for you.

 

 And there was something liberating about loosing my map in Iowa, and awesome about not knowing what day it was, and later finding you were two days off, and not knowing what state you’re in, checking the map later and discovering you’d passed through three states in a day. I loved how, at the end of almost every day, I’d find myself checking the sun to see how far it was from the horizon, learning just how low it could get before I’d be setting up camp in the dark again. “Come on… Come on…. I’m not going to make it…. shit I’m not going to make it. Oh look, a campground sign! Turn! Turn!”

  
I learned a lot this trip. It wasn’t the life changing experience I’d dreamed of, but It ended up being the practice adventure I’d hoped for. Incredibly informative, but relatively easy. Too easy to stand on it’s own maybe. Like a bike with training wheels. It gets you from point A to B and you’re excited to be going, but you’re not *really* riding until you take those training wheels off. Now I know that The Adventurists are right. “When you’re stuck, lost, and up a certain creek without a rowing implement is when you start to have fun”. The United States are, honestly, a bit too safe. You have to work at it to worry about gas, and I can’t remember a road I didn’t encounter someone on fairly regularly. To make it exciting here you have to work at it: take the Trans-America Trail ( http://www.transamtrail.com/ ), or make it a real challenge and take a tiny little 50cc bike like Wan. It’s not at all surprising that when you watch Long Way ‘Round America, while over 3,000 miles from Alaska to New York is one of the shortest and least interesting pieces of the show.

 If that sounds anti-climactic it is, but don’t take that to mean I didn’t have fun, that I didn’t shout a hearty “Hello Cow!” as I passed our four footed cousins who raised their heads to watch me, that I didn’t grin from ear to ear when I saw the Prairie Dog warning, and remember them scampering ten feet from my wheels as I drove past a family of them two states ago.

 

 Or that I even the simplest moments of beauty didn’t make me think about higher powers.

 

 Don’t think for a moment that I would trade a moment of it for the comforts and safety of my home, if anything I regret not going all the way to California. And know that if this has had any impact on my life it has been to show me that the things I want so desperately in my life are just waiting for me to come and join them.

 So, who feels like riding to Mongolia with me? Cameroon?

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First there was the pic ~ with mention of a story ~ Now you have the words.
Sep 14th, 2009 by masukomi

It started with a thwapping on my left foot.

 *Thwap*

 Like a thick cloth being whipped heavily across my boot.

 *Thwap*

 ”But, There’s no cloth in front of my foot…” I think.

 *Thwap*

 I’m imagining some impossible piece of canvas beating in the wind, occasionally swinging around to slap across my laces.

 I look down. There’s a grasshopper IN my shoelaces, its whole body wedged under them against the tongue of my boot.

 ”I have GOT to take a picture of THAT.” I think. “It’s not going anywhere. I’ll do it when I pull over.”

 *Thwap*

 This time it’s the right foot.

 *Thwap*
*Thwap*

 *Thwap*

 I lost count eventually. A hundred? A hundred-fifty?

 *Thwap*

 I never saw them. I just felt them. Thwapping against my feet. It became a sad running joke. Invisible grasshoppers jumping to their doom.

 I thought that would be the worst of it. Them, the few hundred small flying things that converted themselves into little piles of winged meat on my visor, and the occasional large flying thing which bounced off or exploded into a large yellow stain across my eyes. I wondered why bug guts were always yellow, until I finally hit a mosquito on its way home from a meal. It left a small red splotch that looked remarkably like a Scottish Terrier. I had at least a hundred miles to ponder its shape before walking over to the gas station squeegie and attacking my helmeted head for the third time that day.

 Unfortunately that wasn’t the worst of it. I killed a lot of things in South Dakota, but I feel especially bad about the long necked water-fowl that was sitting on the center-line. It seemed confused, as if it couldn’t decide if it should stay there, or attempt to leave. A the last moment it took flight, cutting directly across my path, but far enough ahead that all would have been fine, had it not decided to change its mind directly in front of my wheel, and attempt to turn around. A tenth of a second? A hundredth? Just enough time for my mind to fear that the impact, and following loss of traction as I rode up and over its body would cause me to drop the bike, not enough to prevent the Thumping impact followed, without noticeable delay, by a jolt to the shocks, and then nothing until eventually…

 *Thwap*

 

 I thought it was just dirt, but then I realized it was the remains of countless South Dakotan grasshoppers.

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I think it’s dead now. ~ There’s no way it’s still healthy ~ It’s not my fault though
Sep 5th, 2009 by masukomi

I forget what state I was in. Ohio maybe? I’m not sure.

 I was driving along, through the edges of some town when I see, for an instant, a Monarch Butterfly.

 And then it hit me.
In the chest.

 *whap*

 Then, as they weigh so very little, the force of the wind colliding with my chest and rushing upwards pulled it along.
Right
up
into
my
HELMET

 *flappityFlappityFlappity*

 ”AAAAAAAHHH!!!!”

 There’s a flapping papery thing stuck between my jaw and my helmet. IT’S ALIVE!

 *flappityflappity*

 ”Ahhhh! Get it out! Get it out!”

 I start jamming my left index finger up by my chin to try and pull it down but it’s flapping, and the wind is pushing, and it’s flapping and it’s just going up my cheek!

 ”AHHHHH!!!!”

 I pull my finger out and try to grab the edge of my visor to open it, and it’s flapping, and it’s moving, and the wind is beating it and there’s a truck coming and IT’S APPROACHING MY EYE!

 The visor is open now but it’s not helping. It’s not coming out! I start shaking my head violently, like a Tourette’s sufferer having a bad day at forty miles an hour until eventually, finally, I manage to fling it out without flattening myself into the grill of the approaching pickup truck.

  

 That was the only monarch I saw on the whole trip, and I’m pretty sure I killed it.

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Today was the last ~ It started off in a cloud ~ Ended with regrets
Sep 5th, 2009 by masukomi

Today, my last day, started off about a third of the way across New York in Arkport and found me riding through another cloud. This one was just enough to shorten visibility and mist up your visor. Not like the one in Wyoming which left everything dripping. After a while I made my way past the hills that bounded it and found bright blue skies with sunlight streaming down.
 
I was excited. “I’m going home!” I thought, but the closer I got to home, the more I didn’t want to arrive. Even taking the Mohawk Trail on the way back through Massachusetts didn’t lift my spirits. In the end, it just didn’t feel like a homecoming. I love seeing Boston’s skyline come up over the horizon after being away. It’s always made me think “ahh, home” before. Today though, I just thought… “Maybe I should have kept going to California…”, and “I don’t want this to end.”
 
I found a new home out on the road. You hear adventure riders talk about wanting to get back “home” to their bike after they’ve been off it for a day or two. I’d always thought that to be a sort of joke, in that, you don’t have anywhere else to go but your bike, so it is “home” by default. But on this ride I learned the truth of it. Your bike really does become your home. Everywhere else is unknown and a little shaky, but your saddle… Your saddle is the place you go to feel safe and comforted in the way that any good home does. I’d find myself looking out at it from some random restaurant windows, just wanting to be done with my meal so I could climb back on.
 
A motorcycle is so much more than a “home” though. It is part of the adventure, with a personality all its own, and calling it a “steel horse” isn’t just poetic license. It is a metaphor that lies very close to truth. It eats, it breathes, it has things it likes and doesn’t like that aren’t necessarily shared by others of its breed. I really think that a motorcycle adventure isn’t that different from a horse adventure, except that a motorcycle is so much better at devouring the miles.
 
I imagine that once upon a time there were men who set out west on their horses, not so much for the promise of gold or new land to call their own, but because they could. Because there were new things to be seen, new places to go.
 
For a while I was like them: seeing new things, exploring new places, sleeping on ground that wasn’t always soft, starting each day by packing your saddlebags and throwing your sleeping gear over your horses back. Now I’m back at my house with it’s big plasma TV screen and soft cushions, and I’m not convinced it’s an improvement. I look at shelves of books, video games, electronic boxes and wonder “why do I need all this?”
 
I was riding through clouds in Wyoming, and New York. I saw tumbleweeds crossing before me, and windmills bringing water for cows. I watched the lush beauty of the Black Hills turn to the bleak death of the Badlands in a matter of hours. I drove past two miles of abandoned boxcars, and made my bed to the sound of cicadas instead of Chevrolets. I watched my black gloves bleach a yellow-grey in the sun. And I am not at all convinced that this soft couch is an improvement…

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Hi from Lake Erie ~ It’s ridiculously large ~ Peaceful lapping waves
Sep 4th, 2009 by masukomi

Download now or watch on posterous

IMG_0406.MOV (3063 KB)

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