ECBDRs: PRE-RAMBLE: THE IDIOT’S SOLO JOURNEY

Not being able to join Johnny Pow and Steve on their Continental Divide trip in July was a bummer. But I’ve been thinking about the way I think about these trips. While the amazing landscapes and the wide-open vistas of the West are incredible, there are other things to consider. (Be forewarned that this is all just a rationalization I’m putting in place for myself to feel okay about missing that incredible trip from Mexico to Canada through some of the most glorious landscapes this country has to offer.)

A motorcycle trip has a few layers. First, there is the A to B component. You start somewhere and you end up somewhere else later. I believe that this is the least important component. I’ve decided to travel from Asheville, NC to the Canadian border just about where New Hampshire turns into Maine. I’ll be traveling on the Mid Atlantic Backcountry Discovery Route from North Carolina to the Pennsylvania/New York border and then I’ll head 100 miles East to pick up the North East BDR to head for the border that separates us from Mounties and Maple Syrup fountains and socialized health care. So I’ve got my A to B component sorted.

But we all know that the getting from A to B component is usually just a bullshit excuse to spend some quality time on a motorcycle where you can let your thoughts ricochet around inside your helmet. I mean, I don’t have any pressing business out in the woods on the Canadian border. There’s absolutely no good reason to go there. (Although I do have an idea that’s started to take root that involves me hiking through the woods at the end so I can put a toe illegally over the border.) Anyway, the belabored and cliche point is that it’s not the destination it’s the journey - blahdy fucking blah… Cliches are cliches because they’re true - which is, of course, yet another cliche.

So yeah, it’s the journey that counts. That’s the balony in a balony sandwich. (It’s acceptable to spell it that way - if you’re wondering.) That’s the cream filling in the Oreo. That’s the - you naked in bed between Queen Elizabeth II and Joe Pesce in your super-weird threesome fantasy. Everything that happens in between is where the nutrients are. That’s the part that keeps you moving and keeps you interested. The obstacles, the problems, the weird towns, the tough roads, the gas station conversations, the terrible food, the weather, the bike-swallowing puddles, the baby head rocks that aren’t cute, the ruts, the mud, the obstacle-cloaked river crossings, the breakdowns, the close calls, the being good and god damn lost, the people you meet, the people you wished you’d never met, the people you’ll meet that you will call friends for the rest of your life, the finger hovering over the SOS button on the Garmin InReach as a thin stream of blood starts to flow out of the corner of your mouth to drip slowly down your chin and you’re not completely sure your left foot is facing the correct direction while you try to decide - “is this an emergency?” That’s the shit man! That’s the shit! I want all of the balony. All if it.

This is what Joseph Cambell calls The Hero’s Journey. “The common template of stories that involve a hero who goes on an adventure is victorious in a decisive crisis and comes home changed or transformed.” Now I’m not so sure the “victorious” part is all that necessary. Victory just seems excessive. It seems extra, as my daughters would say. Making it through alive and unhurt and with all your feet facing the correct direction and most of the blood still in your body and without becoming sick from being thigh smeared in truck stop toilet lid gonorrhea paste is more my speed. I’d count that as victorious. I really hate truck stop toilet lid gonorrhea paste.

But all that stuff between point A and point B is the meat and potatoes of a motorcycle trip. You can’t plan or control that part so much, and why would you want to? That’s what makes it an adventure. Hero doesn’t feel quite right to me either. Let’s call this part the Idiot’s Journey component. Point A and Point B don’t have to be epic places. It’s not like a trip on an airplane where the departure and destination are the main points. For a motorcycle ride- neither of these matter much.

So yes indeed. I’m going to ride from Asheville, NC to Canada on a route that’s been done to death. With the Trans America Trail, I was presented awesomeness in stages. There was a slow build as I moved West where the vistas open up and start blowing your mind. There were three Acts. The East Coast warmup was the first act. I got plenty of subtle hints about how incredibly beautiful America is on during that first act. Oklahoma was second act (which I believe should be removed from any and all performances if possible), and then New Mexico on to the the West Coast is the third act and climax. Then you get the final curtain after you reach the Pacific ocean. Sam had the good sense to embed this fairly epic endpoint that you look forward to. As you put in the miles, Port Orford slowly becomes the Meca of your pilgrimage. The ocean, the big rock, the fact that you truly come to the edge of the continent. It became in my mind what Katahdin is to the Appalachian Trail hikers. (Just fyi - you eventually forget the second act altogether. Bret calls Oklahoma the Alzheimers of motorcycle trips.)

I live in Western North Carolina which is arguably the very best area on the East Coast to ride adventure style. So between the amazing local riding I do and the TAT trip, I have very low expectations for the BDRs on this side of the country. I assume this trip is going to be one long East Coast woods tunnel. I’m creating these low expectations actively and with purpose. I’ve avoided doing a ton of research on the East Coast BDRs (other than to scout possible camping spots along the route) and I’ve stayed away from the videos on YouTube. I want to be surprised. I want to be able to pretend that I’ve discovered something new on my own along the way. I don’t want to pass by something and think to myself, “Oh yeah, I remember that from YouTube.”
It’s not going to be like the TAT. It likely won’t be any better than the roads near my house. I’ve come to terms with that. From the scant information that I have - the terminus of the NEBDR is basically a swamp and a sad little grass culdesac with no view whatsoever in the middle of the woods. There’s no Pacific to dip the tire in. There’s no rock to touch. It’s going to be difficult to turn that into Meca or Katahdin. It’s going to be difficult to turn that into a place I dream of finally arriving at. But I’m going to try.

I also don’t have the goofy bike aspect this time to make it an adventure on that level. Riding a CT125 long distance is an instant adventure in itself. It’s instant street cred with anyone who thinks riding a tiny motorcycle thousand of miles is cool. (It’s a small but enthusiastic demographic who appreciates such a thing.) The CT125 was also an instant gas station/campground conversation starter. The Royal Enfield Himalayan doesn’t have any of that. It’s just sort of - a regular bike.

So it’s all about low expectations. And those low expectations are meant to be in place so that when I’m out there I can be blown away by the beauty and scared shitless by rough sections of a route that I have completely underestimated. That’s my hope. I just want a trip that’s interesting, scenic, semi-safe, and that has lots of fun dirt. I want to bring the bike to a stop in the middle of nowhere and listen to that fantastic occasional sound of complete remote loneliness that only comes when you point away from everything and twist the throttle and then shut the bike down and just sit still for a minute. I hope to get into some trouble, but not too much trouble. I’m using the same rules I had on the TAT.

• Be safe and don’t die

• Don’t do anything that isn’t fun

Now before I pontificate on my particular love of solo motorcycling, let me first describe why I love riding with other human beings just about as much. First, of course, is the comradery. But I feel like riding with friends can be dicey. What if you don’t agree on things? What if someone doesn’t want to keep going? What if someone doesn’t like that campsite? What if someone stops too many times to take a piss? What if someone is fucking annoying as shit? But if you’ve got the right combination of personalities and attitudes, it can be incredible. I’ve only experienced this once because I’ve only taken a long ride with others once. Johnny Pow and I are old music friends from back in the 90s. We’ve known each other forever. But I’d never spent so much extended time with him before the TAT trip. It just worked out. We’re both fairly laid back and we have all of the same tastes and endurance when it comes to riding and traveling in general. We like to go hard and we like to go long. And on the TAT, we went very very slowly. (I assume that all of the ladies are being turned on right now. And some of the men too?) And TAT Steve was exactly the same - laid back, a super nice guy, and a bit of a “whatever is cool with me” attitude. We made a perfect triangle. Now don’t forget, this is just my take on things. As the weak link of the group as far as riding skill goes - they may have a completely different opinion. It’s one thing to have a crazy, weird, tough day on your own and then think about it when you’re making dinner. But to have a couple of friends to relive the day with over beers is one of life’s great pleasures. Everything becomes more vivid, more exciting, and probably much more exaggerated. I think that shared memories last longer. That’s just a theory, but I’m pretty sure it’s true. I’m not much of a joiner. I don’t like group activities. But I loved riding with those old bastards.

Then there’s the whole skill and safety thing. I was fine riding solo to Trinidad, mostly. I don’t think I ever went down. But there were times when I definitely needed help. In Arkansas after four flat tires over two days - I just sort of ran out of tubes and energy and was completely stranded in the middle of the ricefields in NowheresVille. Bret W/aka @dogjaw from Little Rock saw an SOS I posted on the TAT FB page and drove an hour to rescue a complete stranger. He took me to his house, fed and beered me. He gave me tires and helped me get fixed up. He also served as a bit of a counselor to help get the bike “out of my head.” I didn’t understand how important that was at the time. I do now. (This was one of the most memorable parts of my trip and I picked up a lifelong friend along the way. Bret and his wife Jo Ann were here in Asheville to say hi back in May.) Anyway - the point is I needed help and was unable to sort myself out on my own.

There’s also no way I could have made it over the passes solo. I received several push-starts from both Steve and Johnny Pow when Little Ugly Homefry just wouldn’t budge up the steep grades. I just couldn’t have done that on my own I don’t think. And I’m not sure how comfortable I would have been doing that long dry desolate desert stretch from American Falls to Arco either. We both crashed and bent our brake pedals in half. I had a few more fairly aggressive crashes here and there. I mean let’s be honest - it’s much smarter to travel with someone. But let me remind you - this is The IDIOT’s Journey.

And then there’s the chance to be lazy when you’re riding with others. If you don’t care much one way or the other (which I usually don’t) you can sit back and let everyone else decide what to do. Johnny Pow is like the guy in the Navy battleship, checking the sonar and pouring over maps and making calculations and shouting out coordinates and headings. I think he likes that shit. So great - I’ll just reap the rewards! If you’re lazy and traveling with people who care about where you’re going, how to get there, where fuel might be, where someplace to sleep might be, what the weather is doing, what’s too dangerous, what’s just dangerous enough, and all of those other logistical things - you can really do worse than to hang out with people who enjoy figuring all of that out. Now that I’ve said all that, I can’t for the life of me think of what my contribution to our little team was. Comic relief maybe?

But solo riding. There’s something about solo riding that I am absolutely and hopelessly addicted to. As should be clear, I’m not great at logistics when I’m on a motorcycle. It’s not that I don’t have those skills. I was a Production Manager for commercial film for a decade and my job was to keep track of a trillion little details, a 70-person crew (with 70 different and annoying personalities attached), travel, and equipment, as well as a 230-line budget, while also keeping the producer and the likely asshole director and the client and agency (also likely assholes) happy at all times. So I can definitely do logistics. But when I’m riding, I just want to ride. I don’t want to feel like I’m on a schedule and I want to feel like I can do anything I want to do anytime I want to do it. Even if it’s not 100% true. I want to feel that as much as I can.

Traveling solo also introduces a bit of an Idiot’s Journey into the swamp of your own brain. I don’t listen to music or podcasts while I’m riding. I like to use those hours of being by myself to figure out how I feel about things. I’m a passionate introvert. I’d say that at least 88.7% of my life takes place internally. I have a close family and a few good friends. I go out and about sometimes (rarely). But still - most of what happens to me happens inside my own head. I assume it’s the same for everyone, but I’m not sure and I’ve never bothered to ask, because I’m an introvert, and talking to people isn’t on the tippy top of my priority list. I’m working on that. I hear you live longer the more friends you have. If that’s true I’ll be in the ground pronto. Again, I’m working on it.

The time I spent solo from Asheville to Trinidad, CO was like giving my brain a much-needed deep tissue massage. I got into some nooks and crannies. I released some putrid pockets and aired out some stuff I didn’t even know was in there. This is embarrassing to admit, but I fucking love hanging out with myself by myself. I find myself endlessly amusing and downright hilarious. No one can crack me up like I can. I mean, who else is going to feel these delusional feelings about me? I think I’ve got my wife pretty well tricked, but let’s be honest. No one appreciates me like I do. I think that’s healthy right up until you cross that line over to narcisism. Borderline Narcissist is okay in my book. Although writing this ride report and making YouTube videos surely indicates some sort of need for attention and must mean that I think people should care about what I have to say. Yuck, that’s gross. Now I don’t like myself as much anymore. But the videos and the writing meet a creative output need that I don’t have as much access to as I get older. I enjoy making the videos and writing the ride reports immensely.

Something that I miss dearly that was abundant in my childhood is boredom. Of course, I hated it at the time, but agonizing relentless prolonged boredom is an ultra-valuable commodity. These days, we don’t have a chance to be bored. There’s always some stupid thing we could be swiping past on our screens (you’re doing it right now). We all know this isn’t worth our time, but we do it anyway because we’re addicted to whatever lame weak useless endorphin rush this gives us. But how the fuck are you supposed to have an original idea while swiping? You can’t. It’s like making tea (I didn’t search for a tough guy analogy here obviously.) But, the steeping time is the most important part of making tea. And what is more tedious and boring than letting tea steep? You need to let an idea sit there and spread through the hot water until it becomes actual tea. It needs time and it needs to be left undisturbed. Do you see what I’m saying? Boredom is fucking awesome. If your brain doesn’t have that time to wander - you’re never going to hit on anything. You’re never going to come to a conclusion. You’re never going to figure anything out. And I’m not talking about solving some impossible math problem or inventing grass that only grows one inch and then stops or having an idea that’s really good for much of anything at all. I’m just talking about giving your brain the time to fire some fucking synapses resulting from some faint stimulus that has nothing to do with looking at a god damned screen. DO YOU FEEL ME, BROTHERS AND SISTERS?! Hacking through the jungle of your brain is just like going on a motorcycle trip. You plow through and sometimes you come to a clearing where everything is bright and in focus. Sometimes you ride in the dark. Sometimes you round a curve and something messed up and frightening is in the middle of the road. You can swerve around it. Or you can head right into its ugly stupid face. I’m going to dive right into that deep dark tar pit and I’m going to enjoy it. It’s an amusement park in the truest most literal sense, and I plan on riding every ride and playing every game on offer. I plan on spelunking into the deep dark airless places that have never been explored before. I plan on having meaningless epiphanies about mundane things. It’s a way to try to retain a slip of sanity in a time and place that is anything but.

All in all, I’m just very happy to be able to continue to do what I can while I can still do it. I feel lucky to have another chance to go on a long trip like this. I’m going to take advantage of it. Whatever there is to get out of it - I plan on getting.