Travelogue

February 04, 2009

Travelogue   02:43 PM
The Latest. And A Call For Support.

Truly, I've been amiss in keeping this blog updated since landing back in the states after my three-year 62,000 mile journey through 35 countries spanning five continents. To be sure, there are great stories and photographs from my ride across our great country. During September and October I crossed the USA using only secondary roads and small two-lane highways. The only interstate I traveled was from the Arizona-California border to the California coast. I'll be sure to send an update as I post more stories from those days traveling through Americana.

I feel lucky to have made this trip and to be sure the aclimation back into life in the USA has been interesting, if not challenging. Have I changed? Or am I just seeing things differently, perhaps with more awareness? Regardless, I've been taking time reconnecting with old friends while making new ones.

In fact, I've made lots of new friends both on the road and through the pages of my website through generous "friends", active commenters and curious and vicarioius travelers. That's perhaps the most rewarding part of my trip.

Since I've been back in the USA I've developed a strong friendship with a gentlemen who is on the board of directors of a non-profit organization that has touched a chord in me. As many of you know, I've tried my best to leverage technology in an effort to capture my trip and convey the essence of my experience through this blog. From digital photography, to dynamic PodCasts and video production and story telling, my computer and those things that plug into or integrate the technology have enabled me to learn, share and communicate simply and cost-effectively from virtually every corner of the globe.

But most of the warm-hearted and culturally rich people I've met over the past three years cannot do as I have done. Here in the USA and other developed nations, we have access to technology that allows us to grow personally while providing us an economic advantage. Often on my journey I've wondered what it would take to get this technology into the hands of the disadvantaged. I believe that with computers, internet access and training these people can improve education, healthcare and commerce -- ideally helping them become self-sufficient.

That's where the non-profit comes in.

I urge all of you to take a look at World Computer Exchange. This organization acquires computers that would be otherwise relegated to landfills, tossed into a heap in the garage or sit lonely awaiting just any bid on e-Bay. They then service the machines and ultimately get them into the hands of community leaders in third-world countries.   

Here's where you can help. Right now World Computer Exchange has a container shipment of personal computers destined for Senegal in western Africa. They're short about $3,400 for paying for this shipment to Africa. The gear in this twenty-foot container will supply 15 schools and offer 6,000 youth access to 200 computers. The Peace Corps in Senegal is involved in this effort too.

World Computer Exchange is a very small organization but extremely focused on bringing technology to underdeveloped communities. Ideally, World Computer Exchange would like to find contributing "sponsors" to cover the $3,400 container shipment to Africa.

For more information about the Senegal shipment and details of how you can help and send contributions visit the Senegal info page here.

More about World Computer Exchange - Expand Minds, Not Landfills.

Used computers connecting 2,500 schools, libraries, universities &
orphanages in developing countries.

700 volunteers building capacity in 500 partner groups in 67 countries in
planning, fund raising, content & partnerships.

Teams of volunteer tech professionals using vacation time to train & help
upgrade and troubleshoot networks.

Consortium of professionals promoting recycling of electronic waste in
developing countries.

I hope some of you, even in these tough times, will find a way to get these computers shipped to Africa.

Stay tuned for more on my WorldRider travels... soon!

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

October 05, 2008

North America/USA   01:19 PM
Best Marketed Signs On The Back Roads of America

I'm fascinated, if not obsessed with the stuff that litters the backroads of America. Dotted with the small business endeavors of the "every" man or woman hoping to realize the American dream, I found an amazing array of visible roadside tactics intended to attract customers and differentiate. From banners to balloons to barns as billboards to mobile and fixed signs to waving greeters, clowns and healthy and bouncy cheerleaders, perhaps none struck me more than the ubiquitous portable flashing arrow sign complete with changeable letters.

You know the kind.

They are everywhere. I imagined the clever, persistent and super-effective salesman who traveled these same roads prior to my arrival touting the cost-effectiveness of such a staple in American's small business landscape. And I imagined once he closed the deal, delivered and collected his cash and commission, the salesman blew town as fast as he arrived. For so many small businesses seem to be stuck, clueless or otherwise lost for finding the all too necessary replacement letters.

Buy some more letters for goodness sake? What are you selling and does anybody care? Not sure if Jimmy got elected,
if so I wonder if he'll do anything about sign clutter?

Now this would confuse a motorist! Seems the sign is in good condition (all three of them) but the owner just has nothing to say nor sell. Ahhhh. But across the street. Look carefully. Another relic from a long lost error. A sign WITH letters. You gotta love those arrows!

Could somebody tell me what exactly is happening here?

Another effort to make a permanent sign from a temporary... nice stang, though...

For world riding or cross country motorcyclists and motorists the task becomes a case of a game of fill in the blank or "guess what we're trying to tell you". Except there's no prize. The only prize imaginable would be for the owner of the sign -- a new customers. But without the ability to spell clearly the intended message, our small businesses on the back-roads of America simply are missing out on customers, while the communities in which they reside are left with ugly relics of signs who've had better times.

Signs of the times, I guess.

Now some enterprising farmer needed a bit more height in his flashing arrow portable sign. So he built it's own platform.

Now what's going on here? No letters? Where's the sales guy? Somebody ought to either populate that sign with a message or take it to the dump!

This one is a low-rider, in need of a paint job and I wonder if those lights still work. And who's chip?

Perhaps the same vintage as Yarnell's above, but with a tad less sun exposure. Seems Jason has something to say, but just get get the letters right. And I guess many in the area have Boas - are they constrictors or simply wavy, flowy, feathery fashion accessories long lost from the era of the vamp?

Some upstanding communities do their best to prevent such garbage from destroying the visual beauty of a back road. I found this in the zoning laws of Camden, Maine:

(1) Billboards, animated signs, flashing signs, roof signs, rotating signs, signs containing any visible moving parts and portable signs are prohibited in all zones. Engraved cornerstones and stone-engraved building or structure names are exempt from this prohibition.

(2) Menu and sandwich board signs, easels, and other sidewalk signs and signs not affixed to a structure or sign post are prohibited.

(3) Ladder signs affixed by the use of hooks and chains are prohibited, except that such signs no larger than 3 inches by 18 inches may be used to indicate whether a business is open or closed or its vacancy status.

Camden defines portable sign in this manner:

SIGN, PORTABLE: A sign that is not permanently attached to the ground or other permanent structure, or a sign designed to be transported, including, but not limited to, signs designed to be transported by means of wheels or trailers, balloons used as signs, and signs attached to or painted on vehicles parked and visible from the public right-of-way, unless said vehicle is used in the normal day-to-day operations of the business.

Now I've never been to Camden, Maine so I can't speak to the type of community nor its history. But it's clear there is an effort to establish boundaries of good taste. You can read the entire code here and while I believe in simple code laws and less goverment regulation, Camden doesn't thwart the the marketing advantage available to businesses to promote itself through signage - it just has an issue with portable signs.

Hmmmmm?

When just one won't do! I get the applicance pricing. But what's going on with the engine repair? And is the fill dirt/rock business going downhill? And wait, in the background, we've got more. Zelta Choice Cuts and even a changeable sign at Bulldog's. This is a great roadside. You've got everthing!

Hey. Now I would have to guess the zoning commission in Camden would have to let this slide. The enterprising hair salon turned a portable into a permanent - complete with power! Bravo! Bravo! But what's the "A"? All that effort just to quit before the end game? Good god!

Riding the backroads certainly affords me the time to slow down, smell the flowers or look for a sign - something - to show me the truth. This poor guy not only is missing the letters from his alphabet soup, he can't seem to get the darn thing straight. And he's lost the lens for his arrow. If that thing lights up at night, it's gonna blind ya!

Steppin' Outside the Time Zone!

Oh - And I've got more. But I'll spare you the flashing portable arrow signs until another day. Look forward to some other classics in future posts!

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

October 04, 2008

North America/USA   03:11 PM
Crossing Kansas - Birds, Wheat, Sunflowers & A Toilet Seat.

Perhaps ever since Judy Garland, in her most memorable role, confided in her dog, Toto, her revelation that she was no longer in Kansas, the state has been the brunt of many jokes. Most, I'm sure, in good taste. Yet those off-color likely often mouthed by people who either whipped through the state across the straight and boring interstate or otherwise have never ventured through the heart of this often misunderstood state.

On the surface the state seems a tad starved. There is no National Park and those bits of its past that made it into the history books include the landmark Supreme Court case Brown v. Board of Education - a plaque in Topeka commemorates perhaps the first major step in ending racial segregation in the South. Kansas also earns the star as the first state to consitutionally prohibit alcohol - in 1891. And though to its chagrin, Kansas graced the front pages of the nations newspapers with the brutal murder of a family - the murder, family and murderers brought to life in Truman Capote's classic "In Cold Blood." And all of this collectively feeds the mainstream subliminally suggesting a less than a paradise mindset about Kansas.

I found Americana in Parsons and as I noted the old town Wichita charmed me - if only for an evening. So, far from the interstate I wondered through the plains and the prairie hoping to get to understand Kansas, before crossing the border into Colorado.

Getting to know you - Kansas.

Charm and fun in only the backroads across America.

What's this? A horse and buggy? Yes! An Amish community in the middle of nowhere. Yoder Kansas.

I found it here. In Kansas. The needle in the haystack.

There are two National Scenic Byways in Kansas and when I found myself a scant shy of the Wetlands & Wildlife National Scenic Byway, I took a slight detour to see if riding this bocky loop through the prairie and grasslands might give me a peak inside a Kansas most of us don't see. Riding through miles and miles of straight roads that often end in a T-junction and like an old etch-a-sketch zig-zag at right angles through fields of wheat, soy and sunflowers. Then through Quivira National Wildlife Refuge. Soon, I found myself mesmerized by the chaotic yet unison rhymic move of black birds across the road. Through the field. They don't move far. But like horses out of the gate, these birds moved on some mysterious cue. And then they'd sit. Silent. Still. Until the next cue.

My exhaust pipe continues to increase in volume and a new rattle from bolts loosened inside. In sore need of repacking, I turn off the engine to watch the birds. When I start it up, the birds move. I find that a subtle and simple twist of the throttle gives this unique power to command those birds to move - in unison. For a second. Then they land on the crop in time. I do it again. And they move. It's then I rewind my brain to Argentina and to the place my friends there refer to as "el campo." Loosely translated as the farm, I think it means the plains the prairie. For the same golden brown glow of the crops and the bright yellow sunflowers burning through an otherwise landscape lacking contrast. As the orange and yellow orb of the sun set in the west, the fields of brown, yellow and ochre colored fields based and came alive. A thing of beauty in a place most see nothing -- especially after traveling through hundreds of miles of this along the interstate.

What's this? Not wheat? Maybe soy?

The wild wicked ways of birds - flying on whim and unison anyway the wind blows.

It's farmland Kansas.

Birds so dense you can't see the cattle behind.

Straight and narrow. The roads and birds of Kansas.

I'm riding down a long lonely stretch when I see coming toward me a carriage. It looks like a carriage. As I get closer it's a horse and buggy. I think back of an old client who constantly accused and congratulated me for taking his company out of the horse and buggy age and into the present. It's Yoder Kansas, And I had no idea, but there's a large Amish community here - far from Pennsylvania. Famous for its quilts, Yoder registers on the map of Quilt enthusiasts worldwide. Paradise of Quilts, I'm told. I see several buggy's and exchange waves with a man wearing a tall hat, cuddled up against a dog in the front seat.

The gas stations have no credit card slots and the pumps no auto shut off. You pump first. And pay later. In Kansas I pumped but my mind wandered as the gas poured out of the tank and flowed onto my boot. There's no questions. I'm not from around 'these' parts.

It's the Wheat state. And after exploring the wacky route of this byway, I found myselt in a state other than Kansas. Hungry, parched and sleepy. I pull into a small market in Ness City, Kansas. A local schoolteacher leans his bicycle against the window and sits next to me with his microwaved hot dog. Tells me I need to see the Skyscraper of the Plains - a four-story building built in 1890 that once housed the Ness County Bank. Today it's one of the 8 Wonders of Kansas and hoses a few boutiques on the ground floor. Tours are available a couple days each week, but not today.

There's something curious about Ness City. Perhaps many things. I learn that just a few months earlier a man finally enlisted help of the local fire and police to talk his girlfriend out of the bathroom. She'd been in there for two years. Sitting on the toilet so long she was stuck to it. The ambulance took her to the hospital with it still attached to her butt. This is real. And this is Kansas:

Ness County Bank - the former - Skyscraper of the Plains. Ness City, Kansas.

Budweiser or Coors Light?

I may be in Kansas still and on some off the beaten track. Yet I find one tree. And a lonely rest area with wireless internet. This is progress.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

September 30, 2008

North America/USA   10:17 AM
It's The People Along the Way - Graceland to Kansas.

As the end this part of my journey looms with each mile I ride, I find myself thinking back at the many people who I've met, who've helped me, who I've helped and who just for one reason or another have made an indelible impression in my memory which I know will never fade. There are so many new friends and people who I hope one day I'll see again and have an opportunity to share more and to learn. And then I think of the friends I haven't seen in so many years. And those here who supported me and believed in this journey prior to my departure in July 2005. I'm heading to Eureka Springs, Arkansas to meet Laurene and Sean Franklin, a couple I met in Winter 2003 when I started planning this journey. AT the time they had just started their fledging internet-based company -- Cycle Gadgets -- offering technology products and gadgets for motorcyclists. Since then they've moved from their modest garage in Northern Indiana to new digs in Northern Arkansas. They helped me with GPS information and lighting.

Outside Memphis two brothers from Marshall, Texas taking a hunting trip and enroute to a property they inherited years ago are amazed and fascinated about the places my motorcycle has traveled. They must take pictures. Of me. The bike. It's the first time they're visiitng the Ohio property and they will be canoe hunting they tell me. I ask to take their photos too. They smile.

It takes a couple days to get there but first I can't imagine a ride across our great country and through Memphis without paying a visit to the KIng. So I made a quick loop by Graceland, tuned my iPod to Heartbreak Hotel and shake, rattled and rolled through Memphis and across the great Mississippi River. I spotted a truck weigh station just over the bridge in West Memphis, Arkansas, where Stan "The Man" Griffen and Eric Morris of the Arkansas Highway Police satiated my curiosity on how trucks are flagged for weighing and the technology involved, while they peppered me with questions of my travels and the flags on my panniers. "You really went to Sudan, Allan?" But even better, I've been feeling a bit heavy riding across east. Carrying a set of tires on the back of the bike certainly ads maybe 30 pounds or more to my load. With my desire to be fully compliant with BMW's "recommended" load rating, I asked Stan and Eric to weigh Doc and give me the official low-down. I haven't put the bike on scales since riding onto a scale in Western Tanzania. With tires and that bottle of wine someone offered me I clocked in at 660 pounds +/- as this scale is really geared for loads in the tons.

Sean and Laurene put me up in their beutiful home on Beaver Lake and I spend a day brainstorming and planning a rally for next fall. I will speak and share some of my stories and photographs (-- Cycle Gadgets -- ). Sean helps me update my maps on the Garmin GPS they sold me more than 3 years ago. And the morning of my departure, Sean fires up his beautiful yellow Gold Wing and takes me for a ride. Leaving about 7am we take a long loop to their shop in Eureka. The crisp air just cold enough to bite my face as I rode with my visor up so I could take in some of this beautiful backcountry. As we dipped into a small hallow, the run rising behind us and basking the green and yellow grasses in a orange aura glow, refracting off the morning due clinging to each blade. I'm mesmerized by this beauty but must keep focused on the twists and turns until we come to another lake where we cross a nearly 100 year old one-lane bridge as the fog lifted itself off the surface of the water in slow motion. It pays to get an early start in the morning. Especially in the Ozarks.

Doc Meets Graceland - Long Live The King!

Roadside Images - Arkansas & Tennessee

Brothers from Marshall Texas - "You really been to all those places?"

The Road to Eureka Springs, Arkansas -- always taking the backroads.

With a set of tires on the back, Doc weights in at 660 pounds... how accurate is it?

Stan "The Man" & Eric of Arkansas Highway Police

Coffee at the locals only shop is entertaining with conversation moving from bikes, to politics to iPhones and more. The owner of the coffee shop, Roscoe shares his microfiger guitar - it's so light, durable and good tone. I bang out a couple riffs before mounting Doc and head toward another iconic "dot" on the map of Arkansas: Bentonville. Yes. Where Sam Walton built his now legendary and somewhat controversial empire - Wal-Mart.

Jerry & Bob partners at Bentonville BMW  give me my first peek at the BMW F800GS. It's beautiful and wonder if when I return sometime in the future to India, Iran and Pakistan if I will be riding Doc or a new 800? Time will tell.

It's unfortunate that I'm unable to connect with Steve at Airhawk, the 'asspad' that I've sat on for my entire journey and perhaps the most important accessory I've used during this trip. So I move on and continue my strategy of riding only the backroads across America -- and cross into Kansas where heavy head winds dramatically impact my fuel economy and massive bugs reduce my visibility. It's flat and yet there are hills. Interesting. I take a liking to downtown Parsons and old town Wichita -- all in the Flat Hills of Kansas.

  

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

September 29, 2008

North America/USA   05:45 PM
Nashville: Chrome Cow Girl Meets WorldRider.

Strolling the side streets of the Music Row district of Nashville makes my mind wander and wonder. In the studios, offices and hallway of these buildings many of the biggest hits of American country and early rock n' roll were born. Time for a haircut, I cruise the neighborhoods of the city and am immediately drawn to the youthful vibe, pockets of newly gentrified and even organically hatched neighboorhoods.

But alas there's I can't spend too much time in Nashville, though I'll return. That night after cramming on editing photos, writing and planning my continued cruise across this vast continent, I find that time has clicked on and on. It's just after 1am when I decide that the noise rumbling from my stomach should be attended to. I Stumbling across the street I find that the kitchen is closed at what still seems to be a rocking bar. I'm pointed down the street, across the freeway and to a convenience store that might have something for me to nibble.

The undeniably cute and endearing Sasha "Biker Lady, Chrome Cowgirl" Mullins with Doc and outside Cafe Coco in Nashville, Tennessee.

It's hear that I found myself in a part of Nashville that perhaps is better seen during the day or avoided all together. The conveniece store/gas station employed three security guards. One letting people into the store and two others patrolling the parking lot and pump area. Wait? I'm in America. And yet I get a feeling quite different than I had earlier today in Nashville. This place is scary. Buenos Aires, Rio, Cape Town, Lusaka, Sudan, Syria and even Cairo felt safer than this... I chuckle as I toss the plastic bag with my microwavable junk back to my room constantly looking over my shoulder. Nashville.

The next morning I find that a local rider found me on Twitter. We exchange a few emails, then text messages and agree to meet for coffee. Packed and ready to go I wait in the parking lot for my hotel. It's not long before I hear that trademark growl coming from the V-Twin powerplant of a Harley-Davidson. It's Sasha, also known as the Chrome Cow Girl. With the ubiquitous skid lid helmet, leather panniers and frills an excuisite paint job, I follow her to Coco's Cafe where I learn that Sasha's second book had just been published and that she was putting final touches on a new album.

With wavy auburn hair, big green eyes and a smile that could turn most any guy's head around, Sasha pulled a tiny device about the size of cell phone from her pocket and started commentating and interviewing me. It was the first time I'd seen a Flip Video Camcorder, and without rehearsal or inhibition Sasha captured the scene, my bike and a handful of stories before we retreated inside for a cup of coffee. As I thumbed through the press proof of her new book, The Chrome Cowgirl Guide to the Motorcycle Life, it occurred to me that even though our respective motorcycle "lives" were different, we were bonded together by like loves: travel and motorcycling. [note: I wish this Flip HD technology was available when I crossed the border into Mexico three years ago, I think I would have authored many more video podcasts!]

I was treated to a preview of a press proof copy of Sacha's new book, , The Chrome Cowgirl Guide to the Motorcycle Life and an opportunity to capture her in an impromptu photoshoot outside Cafe Coco in Nashville.

   

While I injected the caffeine into my system and washed it down with a hearty Tennessee breakfast, the night before's experience faded away as we shared stories, ideas and contacts. A true renaissance woman and a biker to boot, I knew that this new friendship would last and our path's would cross again sometime soon.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

September 26, 2008

USA   08:33 PM
Back Roads of Tennessee - Riding My Way Through America

Slightly parched, tired and disappointed that I was stuck in a dry county for a couple days due to the bearing problem, I was ready for a beer. With this as a requirement, I'd hoped to walk somewhere for dinner. But in the adjacent vicinity, Sweetwater's dining options were the usual fast food fair or, per the front desk girl at my motel, of questionable cleanliness. And a beer? Not so easy. So she pointed me up the road to a local BBQ place but it was too far to walk.

What have the done with Budweiser? Maybe it's been that way for years. But it has an awful if not coincidental look similar to a can of Coca-Cola. Can't say I ever order a Bud, but given my three choices, I had no choice. You leave the country for a few years and an American Icon goes berserk.

Two police cruisers dominated the small parking lot, while a family that would be candidates for before pictures in a Jenny Craig ad piled into a SUV each with a plastic doggy bag. I guess they'll feed ya here. A bit dry and served with a BBQ sauce a tad sweet for my liking, I was also limited in my beer selection. But this didn't dampen my spirit as I thought about my journey ahead.

While I've been back in the states for more than a month, I find myself with an insatiable itch. A beckoning call falls on eager ears. Gas prices are through the roof and every day brings more bad news about economic despair. Maybe I should've just rode around Iran through Georgia and making my way across the 'stans and into Pakistan. But there's no sense in dwelling on my decision. I was gone for more than three years. And while a few questionable nights in North Carolina and Tennessee can have a numbing effect on someone who just traveled 60,000 miles through 35 countries on 5 continents. Why am I complaining?

I sucked down the beer and inhaled the rest of my brisket and hit my pillow hard.

My ride to reacquaint myself with my homeland continued the next morning. The ride from Sweetwater to Nashville over route 68 then taking a slight detour onto 419 through Cumberland Mountain State Park before hopping on route 70 which took me all the way to the Music Row in the country music capital of the world.

Winding through the backroads and small highways, the rather noisy pipe on Doc competed with the thumping groove of J.J. Cale piping through my iPod. I traveled through Borggest Station and treated myself to views of the Tennessee River Valley and then onward to Watts Bar Dam and the nuclear powerpoint that share its name. Franklin D. Roosevelt, as part of his New Deal, created the Tennessee Valley Authority (TVA) to not only bring jobs to out of work Americans, but to bring electricity and an era of modernism to the rural south from Tennessee to Georgia and Alabama. In addressing congress in in the early 1930's Roosevelt envisioned a government agency with the agility of a private enterprise. He said the TVA would be:

“a corporation clothed with the power of government but possessed of the flexibility and initiative of a private enterprise.”

Today with 29 hydro electric power plants, the TVA also produces energy through nuclear and coal plants to deliver wholesale electricity to more than 8.5 million customers in Alabama, Georgia, Tennessee, Mississippi, Kentucky, North Carolina and Virginia -- making it the largest power producing utility in the country. Beyond the power producing capacity, the Tenneesse Valley Authority offers a wide array of recreational activities for residents of the surrounding area.

This is America! Big red barns!

Cumberland Mountain State Park, Tennessee.

Could this be Mayberry RFD?

I love traveling these roads. Feels like home.

Venturing on everything seemed to be working for me. Doc purred along effortlessly, there were hardly any other vehicles on the road, and the long stretches between small townships and settlements provided a backdrop of red barns, glistening silos and the occasional boneyard offering a glimpse of the past.

Coming out of the Tennessee Valley I quickly climbed up to the Cumberland Plateau. With electricity, water and arable land part of the government's plan was to further populate the area and in doing so granted Made my way to Crossville along the Cumberland Plateau, then to Cumberland Mountain State Park. At the cross roads I saw the homestead museum.

Once again I moved further from the roads more traveled and I slipped into a sublte but relaxing time warp where young boys walked the streets with fishing rods hoisted over the shoulders. I could've been in Mayberry, but I was cruising the Cumberland Plateau and heading to Nashville.

But the landscape wasn't all rosy. Happy I was off the interstate and miles from the ugly blemish of big box retail and homogenized shopping centers, the roadsides were littered not with floating plastic bags as I came to despise in Africa or the ugly plastic water bottles now ubiquitously littering our entire world, but the pitiful display of bad retail. It's as if the sexy five and dime and soda fountains of years gone by have been replaced by corrugated steel structures crammed with whatever couldn't be sold elsewhere. I know I'm a bit harsh when discussing such things. But it's as if the white elephants of years are dumped into a cesspool of retail junkyards littering what was once the beauty and original Americana. All for a lower price.

Welcome To Nashville and Music Row!

And those greedy and tasteless companies who can't come up with a better name than Dollar This, Dollar That, or Dollar Dollar. How many of these schlock outfits must use the world "dollar" in the title?

Fortunately by the time I noticed one of these retailers, I'm buzzing through and on a stretch of beautiful road -- until the next one. Yes. They serve a market. And yes they have their fans and loyal customers. But no, they aren't pretty.

I rolled into Nashville for the second time in my life. It's a big frightening to see what they've done with The Grand Ole Opry and turned it into a shopping mall and resort. Thankfully, the original Opry, the Ryman Auditorium in downtown Nashville is still fully operational and still headlining top acts.

I found a cheap motel on Music Row and made Nashville my home for a few days.

Posted by allan | Comments (0)

September 25, 2008

USA   06:32 PM
I Think That I Shall Never See A Poem Lovely As A Tree.

It took John and I the better part of the day to locate the bearings and fabricate what we needed to bring Doc together again. By the time we waved goodbye, I only had a couple hours to ride across the border into Tennessee. My route? The Cherohal Skyway - a twisty, sometimes steep scenic route that rides the crest of the Great Smokey Mountains through state and national forests until dropping down into Tennessee and flanking the Tellico River.

"Keep your eyes on the road," the couple looking for some Tail of the Dragon Memorabilia as they browsed the selection at Mountain Motors, "though you won't want to." With nearl 60,000 miles under my belt including 35 countries and some 50 border crossings, nothing phases me much these days. "They had to heli-vac a motorcyclist out of their last month," the woman dressed in jeans and a curve fitting leather jacket complete with frills. "If you take your eye off the road you'll miss a turn, " she grabbed my arm with her long blood red fingernails nearly piecing my riding jacket, "and it's a long way down."

Winding my way into the skyway - The Charohala Skyway the straddles the Tennessee - North Carolina Border.

Buzzing through these perfectly banked, cambered and smooth roads is quite the contrast from the roads of Syria or Sudan.

Even better, these roads actually are well marked, if not excessive in the warnings and alerts.

The Cherohala highway jumps to nearly a mile in elevation. Along the way the road passes through the Nantahala forest near the high-point with views of those Smokies. While I chose to bypass the park, I was filled with this late afternoon feeling of energy was I let the rhythm of the rode, bike and twists and turns of the Charohala highway guide move me in a way only a motorcycle ride through scenery and a well designed mountain road can.

Again, my inclination is to stop at virtually every pull-off to gaze at the vistas, inhale the mountain air or watch the birds in their effortless glide sail across the blue sky. At one stop I noticed a middle-aged gentlem dressed in overalls and sporting a ragged beard and baseball cap. In one hand he held awhat looked like a the old antenna we had sprouting from the room of my house when I was bout 8 years old. In the other an odd looking low-tech device with a few knobs and meters. It didn't offer the appearance of high-tech, computer age techno gadgetry. But it was odd. Almost makeshift. On his head, large headphones. Though the sound of my pipe is way beyond my comfort level and I'm looking for an opportunity to take the time to repack, the man didn't hear me pull up.

Barely friendly and if not slightly bothered by my inquiry, he explained that he lets his dogs loose in the forested notch below and then tracks them audibly from the overlooks on the Charohala. It seemed a probably answer, but I wondered why. As he chatted he exhibited an almost nervous tick by constantly looking over his shoulder. First to the right. Then the left. He had a clean pick-up with a collection of lock boxes and diamond plate dog-houses in the bed. "Can't seem to find them," he explained nervously while tossing a canvas around the back of the pickup. Not sure what he was really up to, but maybe this is a Tennessee/North Carolina hobby I've yet to hear about.

I love how the skyway climbs and twists and turns.

In California we've got strick dog-on-a-leash laws. But here in the backwoods of Tennessee anything goes. An odd hobby and odder looking gear. I hoped my not-so-friendly local finds his dogs.

At the next stop a group of Harley Riders from Georgia peppered me with questions before riding on. I rode to the Joyce Kilmer Memorial Forest, dedicated to the woman that wrote the poem "Trees" with the line "I Think That I Shall Never See A Poem Lovely As A Tree." And trees abound. Here high in the mountains old growth forest dot the land, but I wonder what it was like for those soldiers tramping through these lands during the civil war, where afterwords some of the surrounding lands were cleared after northern investors took claim.

Never losing sight of my goal to traverse the USA on secondary roads, byways and two lane highways, I knew that today would be a short day. I set my sites for Sweetwater, Tennesse, hoping to arrive before sunset and find some good southern BBQ.

By the time I got to Sweetwater it was getting dark. A soulless town of strip malls, fast food and a few local places, I resorted to staying at an Econo Lodge. Not really a bad deal as they had free internet and allowed me to get caught up on this blog. And after many months of being behind - well - that's a good thing!

As the sun began its set, I watched travelers heading up the skyway as I rode toward the flatlands of the Tennessee Valley.

The Telico River as the late afternoon dappled light played tricks as the sun shone through the wind shaking trees.

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September 24, 2008

USA   11:55 AM
Seized & Shafted In Robbinsville

After another night of camping on the Blue Ridge Parkway, I made my way down the final stretch of the 469 mile run that goes from Northern Virginia to Western North Carolina. It's hard to ride this parkway without stopping at every pull off to gaze at the limitless vistas deep into the Shenandoah Valley, across to the Appalachian Mountains and into gaps, hollows and small towns seemingly stuck in a time warp.

The last stretch of The Blue Ridge Parkway through North Carolina crosses the tallest mountains on the route up to just over 6,000 feet. With brisk nippy air and clear skies the long tunnels that cut through the mountains along the parkway add to the dramatic setting. I came across several stops where a group of people in beach chairs and sporting binoculars or powerful monoculars so they would watch birds of prey sail high above the valley and the mountains below. One such stop was an official "Hawk Counting" station. Though I can't remember who they were officially counting for -- but it was an impressive display of unity and passion among the group.

Winding through beautiful sweeping turns, zooming up quick inclines resolving to nicely banked decreasing radius turns and then gliding down and up and over again. It's the near perfect road for riding a motorcycle. Speed limits notwithstanding. But it too must end and end it did at the small town of Cherokee near the Cherokee Indian Reservation at the North Carolina and Tennessee border. Here I needed to make a decision. Do I continue North into Smokey Mountains National Park and then into Gatlinburg? Or do I take the shorter but still very scenic Charahala Skyway which crosses from North Carolina into Tennessee.

Looking for birds.

The majesty of the Blue Ridge Mountains.

The last section of the highway winded through nearly a dozen dark tunnels.

Bryson City, North Carolina Town Hall/ Courthouse. A sweet slice of Americana.

A quick poll and I decided to go for the Charahala. Everybody I talked to was concerned about fuel: gas. Thankfully, at about 70/mpg, my range on just under four gallons of fuel is greater than most four-wheeled machines. So while there is potentially a greater chance for finding fuel north, I decide to avoid, this time and from this direction, the Smokies. You see Gatlinburg and points North are nothing more than a tourist trap featuring "Dollywood," the resort named after our favorite big breasted country singer Dolly Pardon. No thank you. I'll head to Robbinsville and then over the mountains into Tennessee.

So I took the back roads to Robbinsville where I had to stop because of a nasty headache. The second one this week. I guess I once again became dependent on coffee while at my brother's place and on the road, especially when camping, I'm not motivated nor equipped to brew a GOOD cup of coffee. My memories still swirl around those great coffee ceremonies and sessions in Ethiopia. But this nagging headache? Maybe a caffeine fix type of headache? I don't know. But I needed Ibuprofen. That's when i realized I had mobile phone coverage. So over a chicken sandwich at the local Wendy's in Robbinsville I satisfied my hunger and made a few important phone calls. This financial crises is killing me!

Getting back on the bike I immediately feel something wrong. It's bizarre. Feels like a flat tire. I stop at a local one-man motorcycle shop, Mountain Motors, run by John, a calm, easy going, mechanic with long hair fitting of the type of guy you'd find on a Harley-Davidson. His shop was littered with an eclectic collection of odd parts, Harley kitsch and memorabilia and posters touting the "Tail of the Dragon" at Deals Gap. A one-time quiet back road that over its 11 miles winds away through the mountains through 318 curves. Do the math? That's close to 30 curves every mile. It's now become a haven and an odd mecca for sports bike riders. According to John, when he first moved here from Pennsylvania he was instrumental creating awareness for the windy and often dangerous road to the motorcycle community.

  We checked the tire pressure and then noticed that my rear axle was loose. Strange. Just a few weeks back the folks at Bob's BMW in Jessup had fitted new sprockets and chain. Could they not have torqued it enough? We tightened it up, took the ubiquitous photos and I headed toward the Charahala Skyway.

But I didn't get too far. Even above the excellent attenuation provided by my custom molded Westone ear plugs I could hear the squeak like grinding. I made a U-Turn and soon John and I were removing the rear tire because we realized that while it might look cool, the axle bolt shouldn't move at the same rate as the rear wheel. In fact, it shouldn't move at all.

Seems that the rear wheel bearings, actually the bearings in the sprocket assembly had worn and melted - rather nearly welded - to the chase. After pulling the axle and assembly apart, it was difficult to make sense of what parts were separate and what were together. They were all melted together. It was already past FedEx time on the east coast, and calls to the west coast resulted in no parts available. But thankfully the parts guy at Bob's BMW explained over the phone the seven parts that made up the sprocket assembly:

1) Spacer - sleeve exterior
2) Shaft seal (dust seal)
3) bearing (a)
4) circlet locking ring
5) stopper (washer)
6) bearing (b)
7) Spacer - sleeve interior

Most of these parts could be reused if we could separate them. The bearings would need replacing, but Bob's once again went over and above and gave me the standard bearing part numbers: For the sprocket carrier 6204 (double seal); and for the wheel itself: 6203 (17 x 40 x 12). All these parts could be found here in Robbinsville. But it mean staying the night.

John let me leave most of my stuff locked in his showroom and then took me to a local motel. Later I made my way to Ruby's for a home cooked spaghetti dinner ($5.99 complete with salad and Texas toast). But when I tried to order beer I learned I got stuck in a dry county. Imagine that.

John owner and mechanic extraordinaire outside his shop, Mountain Motors in Robbinsville, North Carolina.

It didn't take long to figure out what was wrong with Doc.

Things were a bit tight and seized and it took quite a bit to get the sleeve and bearings free.

John's shop was an eclectic mix of motorcycle kitsch and just the parts and supplies you'd need before and after riding Deal's Gap or the Charahala Highway.

By early the next afternoon Doc was ready to go. Together we sailed over the Charahala Skyway and into Tennessee.

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September 22, 2008

North America/USA   12:58 PM
Slight Detour To Conover - Home of Held USA

At less than one hundred miles off my route, I couldn't pass up the opportunity to visit the good folks at Held USA -- the importers of the fine German gloves I've used since starting my trip more than three years ago. Sadly, all of my Held gloves were ripped off at the Port in Derince near Istanbul Turkey when my bike was ransacked of nearly everything of any value that I had chosen to leave on the bike for its transAtlantic voyage.

Tommy and Elissa Kincaid, the couple that own and run Held USA, had sent a pair of gloves to my brother's place so I wouldn't be without Held gloves for my ride across the States. Operating out of a mid-sized office and warehouse in a modern industrial park in Conover, a smaller community just outside of Hickory, North Carolina, they've been importing Held since 2001. The German-based company has made gloves and other products for generations and the gloves have been imported into the U.S. for more than twenty years. When the Kincaid's started importing Held products, another west coast company had an exclusive deal for the gloves. But problems with that importer meant good fortune for the Kincaids and in 2006 they tacked the Held line of gloves onto their catalog.

Mickey, Tommy and Elissa run Held out of a modest warehouse in Conover, North Carolina. A true down to earth small business run by passionate hardworking enthusiasts.

I was surprised to discover that Held's catalog was packed with much more than simply gloves.

I ended up spending most of the day with the Held folks. Later Mickey and Tommy provided me with maps and recommendations for my next day's ride.

To be sure, I had no idea they made anything else. But walking through the warehouse I was surprised to learn that they make riders' apparel, full leather racing suits and an impressive line of luggage and tank bags. Who knew? We shared stories of business and motorcycle travel over lunch and the conversation continued back at the office where I met their right hand man and sales guy Mickey. The best thing about hanging out with the Held folks that afternoon was watching them truly enjoy their work, smiling, joking and getting business done.

Tommy offered to replace my classic Held Steve gloves, my winter gloves and silk liners. But I didn't leave there without spending some money. Never a type of rider that used a tank bag, I listened to Tommy as he passionately demonstrated why the Held bags might be something worth looking at. I've never liked a big towering bag that would bump my thighs or groin when standing up on Doc while riding through rougher terrain. But this Held tank bag seemed it would solve a problem that's nagged me since leaving -- my digital SLR camera. Always hard to get to and locked up in my top case. To use this camera I had to stop, get off the bike, unlock the case and and finally retrieve it from under whatever else I've thrown in there. My fellow rider through Bolivia and northern Argentina, Jeremiah, used to keep his camera in a tank bag. But even his bag was too big. This new Held can hold just about my Canon 20D and a lens. Though Tommy suggests that I get some sort of padding to add to the existing padding just to be sure the camera doesn't bang around on rough roads.

Slowly but surely I'm getting back to nearly 100% of my core gear and supplies that I carried with me. Though I can't wait to do a quick analysis of the gear that I started with on my trip and the gear that I ultimately carried all the way around the world with me -- that is before much of it was ripped off. It will be an interesting lesson and I'm sure proof that the old adage: pack everything you think you need, but before you leave, get rid of half of it. Even then, later down the line you'll find a post office and send even more of it home.

Exactly.

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September 21, 2008

North America/USA   01:13 PM
Blue Ridge Parkway to Asheville

From New York City I finally made progress toward the west coast and headed southwest with a plan to ride a somewhat southerly route all the way to California -- and only using back roads -- two lane highways or country roads exclusively. I will do my best to avoid any interstate travel and make my way home through Americana. A perfect time too, as our country prepares for and watches for one of the most exciting presidential campaign and elections in our history.

Riding New York - Photo by Tim Amos

View from Tim's place.

At a guess station I met a local rider who contributes to the Adventure Rider community of motorcyclists, 2ndSpace, he offered to put me in touch with other locals who could help with maintenance or repairs -- even put those tires on -- but Doc's been running good and I just wanted to ride. I took some local roads, grabbed a bit and eventually put myself back toward Shenandoah. Where I popped onto Skyline Drive, a beautiful road that winds its way through Shenandoah National Park in Virginia's Blue Ridge Mountains. Riding this time of year and with the latest heat wave they've had here in Virginia, I'm a bit too early for seeing the fall colors express themselves on the hickory, elm, and hemlock trees that line the beautiful drive.

My first night I settle into a park service campground and while I haven't camped since Sudan, I seemed to fall right into place. With dark skies and thousands of stars and just a basic meal of noodles and broth, it just feels a little funny to be stateside once again with Doc. And wow! What a campground!

With a 35-mph speed limit, Skyline Drive isn't the road to make time. Besides, there's so much to see as the road is built nicely with plenty of pull-offs sporting panoramic vistas. Skyline Drive quickly ends and segues into one of the longest parkway in the country - The Blue Ridge Parkway. With great weather and more primitive campgrounds I continued my drive into North Carolina.

Good old camping food along the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Camping along the Blue Ridge Parkway

The Blue Ridge Parkway winds its way through 469 miles of forest, meadows, valleys and mountains from Virginia through North Carolina and ending in Tennessee.

The old Mabry Mill along the Blue Ridge Parkway.

Road Food In Floyd, Virginia - Pulled Pork BBQ

Along the way many bikers stop to chat with me at the pull-offs. With a stack of tires on the back and a bike that is quite different than 99% of the bikes I saw for the first few days of my ride, I still seem to attract attention -- even here in the USA. I first met a couple more local guys on sport bikes -- one the new Triumph Triple. And a group from St. Louis on Harleys. It's the tires that attract the attention. Though I have to admit, I'd only seen one other "adventure" bike in the few days I've been riding toward California -- and he was going the other way.

Lots of Harleys. Mostly. And a sport bike or two.

One guy riding a Suzuki 1200S Bandit couldn't believe the places I'd been. Like many before him, he had to grab his camera and take my picture. Tall with a tinge of a southern accent, wearing a typical motorcycle jacket, but then the rest of his gear? Jeans and cowboy boots. Neatly trimmed hair and a stack on the back of his motorcycle that would make any donkey or camel I'd seen in South America or Africa extremely jealous, Cliff Loose wore an easy smile and spoke with intense enthusiasm and excitement as he told the story of his first "bike camping" trip. Always a sport biker and because he lives just a few short miles from the infamous biker hallmark, Deals Gap, also known as "The Tail of the Dragon," he gets intense pleasure out of great day rides in the area. But today he was on his fifth day and still two or three days from home. "This has been a life changing experience for me," he revealed. "But you! I can't believe the places you've been."

The Hurricane in Texas seemed to make finding gasoline quite a challenge. Other motorists I spoke to spoke of a greater conspiracy. No matter the reason, we couldn't find a gas station with fuel in all of Asheville on this September morning.

Cliff Loose on his Suzuki Bandit. A weeklong motorcycle camping trip from Tennessee to West Virgiinia "changed his life".

We made plans to connect again the next day where I met him at Willville - an exclusive biker only campground just off the Blue Ridge Parkway 25 miles south of Floyd, Virginia. There I met Will and a group of guys just returning home after a Moto Guzzi rally. But that's part of what ties the biker community. It's the camaraderie, the rallies and just the shared passion of wind in your face freedom and the open road.

Riding through this town to find a nice place for dinner after many days of camping, both Cliff and I were shocked as to the extent of the fuel shortage in this part of hte country. Every gas station on Tunnel Road and into downtown Asheville was out of gas. The word is that the refineries were shut down in the prepartions for Hurricane Ike, which sadly has left many people without electricity for several weeks.

Cliff and I shared a hotel room here in Asheville. The next morning we found that the gas shortage hadn't fixed itself over night. Cliff headed back home to Franklin, and I rode onward to Held USA's headquarters just outside Hickory.

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September 13, 2008

North America/USA   10:54 PM
Making My Way Back To California

As I feverishly work to get current on this blog, it's time to document yet another transcontinental ride. While hanging with friends and family on the east coast has certainly been warm, exciting, tasty and fulfilling, it's time I get back home -- to California where more loved ones, friends and family eagerly (I hope!!) await my arrival.

Even better, I received an odd email from a fellow motorcyclists. Odd only in the fact I was sure that Carl aka CrazyCarl (a contributing donor and "Friend of WorldRider"), was still riding motorcycles, teaching English and making films in China. But guess what? He just moved back to the states and is working and living very close to Jon. Though a WorldRider party/open house at Jon's had to be postponed until later in October, Carl and I managed to squeeze in a couple hours for some Thai food the night before I headed back to California. Carl has filmed a documentary about riding Chinese motorcycles around the rural westerly provinces of China -- they're available for purchase here.

Crazy Carl and brother Jonathan contemplate Thai Food in McLean, Virginia.

I packed up the bike with all systems seemingly ready to go. Because Avon supported me with tires yet wishing not to be wasteful, I loaded the Avon Gripsters on the back of Doc and took off for my first stop -- Avalon, New Jersey -- where I will visit my friend Tim at his beautiful home just steps from the sand and the Atlantic Ocean. After all, I should be sure to do this trip from the Atlantic to the Pacific. Right? I motored up through Maryland and Delaware taking the ferry across the bay from Lewes. We spent quality time catching up. Since I last saw Tim in South America in February of 2007, he has climbed Mount Rainer, Mount Acongagua in Argentina and Denali (Mt. McKinley) in Alaska. So while my adventures have been taking me to new places, his have taken him to new heights. We celebrated with some great Argentinean, Italian and French Wines at local Avalon eateries Sea Salt and Jay's.

I couldn't leave the East Coast without a quick stop in the grandest city of the world - New York -- where Tim's other residence has panaromic views of Midtown Manhattan and the Empire State Buidling.

Joining Tim and I in Avalon was our friend and Tim's co-worker Joanne -- a contributing "Friend of WorldRider" I'd like to note -- and I headed up the parkway toward the Big Apple. Excited to bring Doc full circle and to see if we could get some photo opportunities with those landmarks that make New York famous. So when we rode into Liberty Park in Jersey City I was happy that the two Jersey State Park Police were both motorcyclists. After explaining my plight around the world on Doc, they agreed to let me wheel the motorcycle on the promenade so we could snap some photos of Doc and I finally returned to the land of freedom and our United States with the classic Icon of Lady Liberty, Ellis Island and the Manhattan skyline all symbolizing what makes this country so great.

Deleware celebrating an important week for both riders and drivers.

Over the Bay Bridge, through Maryland and Delaware to the Lewes - Cape May Ferry where Doc and I sailed to New Jersey.

Joanne and Tim playing in the Atlantic.

A glass of vino in the Atlantic isn't a bad idea either.

Sunset the day before we took off for New York City.

Sunrise the morning off to New York City. One last gander at the Atlantic and a bit of sand riding for the hell of it.

Cruising to the Big Apple

Explaining my plight and looking for permission to take Doc onto the Promenade at Liberty Park in Jersey City.

[...] secure the Blessings of Liberty to ourselves and our Posterity [...]

The Journey Continues and Hello New York!

My favorite New Jersey Park Police - also bike riders!

The Big Apple.

Times Square.

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September 11, 2008

North America/USA   12:34 AM
Washington, DC - My Homecoming

Sure. The current government administration hasn't fared nor treated us Americans well. Our president is stuggling to make sense of his legacy and our country's top political parties have finally chosen their candidates and appointed vice presidential running mates. We are living in exciting and strange times.

So before pulling up my temporary roots here in Washington, I decided to make a quick ride to our nations capital to once again greet it and thank our forefathers for creating the greatest democracy and country on earth -- despite our problems and our set backs.

Crossing Memorial Bridge over the Potomac River into Washington DC

Heading toward the Abraham Lincoln Memorial

The Capitol Building.

The Washington Monument.

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September 06, 2008

North America/USA   09:27 PM
Putting The Pieces Back Together

I've been set back quite a bit by the breach and thievery that happened either in Turkey or on the WWL ship. But I can't dwell on it other than sadly note that the only theft that occurred to me on this nearly three year journey happened after I had left the bike for its journey to come home by ocean freight.

Sad.

The good news is that Al Jesse sent me a new set of locks. Though I have to admit that I screwed up installing them back on the bags. I'm sure that he fits these locks into the hinged handles prior to securing the handles to the bags. I just couldn't get even my smaller hands to get these locks fitted correctly. I hope that when I ride through Arizona later this month he can straighten me out. The bags need a little work too.

With Anna, Emily and Beanie the cat.

Jon takes Doc out for a spin in the neighborhood.

Tommy and Elissa from Held USA who import the gloves that I bought back in 2005 and who replaced a pair under warranty that I had worn through after my first 30,000 miles, sent me a pair of their new "Fresh" lightweight glove. I hope that time and energy allows me to visit their offices in North Carolina as I make my way back to California.

Bill Plam and his crew at BMW Santa Cruz County are shipping me a pair of BMW Rallye 2 pans and a new electric vest. Though they're not giving it to me they are discounting the products by 10 or 15%. And Andy Goldfine of Aerostich, who supported me at the beginning of my trip is sending me a free replacement for my canvas tank panniers and I will have to purchase the lightweight bike cover -- the single best protection from theft or tampering you can buy for any trip. I often wonder that if the cover had been on the bike and not in the top box maybe I wouldn't have been ripped off.

I took the bike to Bob's BMW in Jessup, Maryland to fit new chain and sprocket, oil change and to examine the bike. Without an appointment, they were slammed and barely fit me in. They told me that the both the wheel and steering head bearings appear to be okay, though I'd rather replace them after nearly 60,000 miles. An ounce of protection. But we'll see.

One other thing the thieves didn't take was my AirHawk seat cushion -- thank god. But as I was fitting my gear and repacking I noticed that the valve no longer worked. They must have tried to figure out what this crazy looking "mini-mattress" was and in doing so destroyed the valve. Steve at AirHawk was kind enough to send me a replacement.

Jon checks out the X-series of 650's offered by BMW - might be time for one Jon?

I'm happy to be back in the states as my good friends at Avon Tyres sent me a spanking new set of Gripsters. Though I still have quite a bit of tread on that amazing Zambian-based Dunlop that I fitted in Cairo. I'll have to carry these Avon's until I wear down the Dunlop.

My brother, his wife Maria and my nieces Emily and Anna have a been a joy to be around. With great company, lots of playing with the kids and good food and wine it's been a great acclimation period to be back in the USA. Plus, the use of his basement and ping-pong table has been instrumental in getting organized and ready for a cross continental ride to California.

Pulling everything out of my duffel bag and what was left on the bike and in my bags (above)

After organizing, repacking and sorting by available space. The quadrants of the ping-pong table each represent either the left or right Jesse and Aerostich bag; and the top box. On the floor is the stuff that goes into the Ortlieb dry bags which get strapped atop the Jesses. Then there's some miscellenay in th emiddle such as the AirHawk and some stuff in back which gts tucked under the seat. Feels like I'm starting all over again.

I was ready for a shake down ride and took off for Michigan to see Angie, Marti, Rick, the boys and more family!

A quick weekend shakedown ride to Michigan turned out to be a good time to iron out some rough spots in the repacking. I also ended up getting stuck without power. The cables were so corroded that in the rain the whole system shut down. I must've not tightened the cables down enough when I replaced the battery at the Port of Baltimore.

Angie's niece Francesca Maria and cousin Garret Dean with those legendary twins Grayson and Damian all pose on Doc after I did a shake down ride to Michigan.

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August 13, 2008

North America/USA   09:38 PM
Back In The U.S.A.

The Marine Memorial - aka Iwa Jima in Virginia across the Potomac.

Brother Jon & good friend Tim, who met me in Argentina and Chile in 2006 sitting atop Charlie Palmer's in Washington DC with a nearly full moon and the usual "hill" sites while sipping some legendary Italian Vin Santo.

A good ole BBQ at brother Jon's with Tim and Andrew Krauss.

In Celebration we opened about 6 bottles of John Alban's legendary Rhone-style wines.

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August 08, 2008

Asia/Turkey/USA   07:30 PM
Welcome Back to USA: Disaster & Ripped Off.

Well it should have been an easy task. Get my brother Jon to take a bit of time and shuttle me up to the Port of Baltimore, where Doc would be waiting for me. I had locked my boots, helmet and riding pants into the top box and Jesse Bags. My jacket was sent ahead for some repairs under BMW warranty, so with that I'd just pick up the rest of the gear and ride back to Virginia to spend some time with my brother and his family before embarking on the cross-continental USA leg of my WorldRider journey.

Not so fast.

The freight was sent freight-collect. So I'd sent my final payment to WWL a few days earlier. All I needed was to get my final bill of lading stamped by WWL at the Port of Baltimore and then get customs cleared. Simple enough. I was just about through the whole process when the U.S. customs agent asked that I bring the bike around to verify the VIN#. He pointed to the warehouse where I'd find the bike.

But when I got to the bike this is what it looked like:

On top of that. The key that I'd left with the WWL agents in istanbul was in the ignition, the handlebars were locked, but they were locked in the first position. That is, the position that locks the bars and puts on the "parking" light. The battery was dead. A port mechanic tried to help me jump the bike. But when the cables were pulled off the bike just died. The battery is a goner.

But that's not all. Closer inspection revealed that the locks were pried off my Jesse bags. My Aerostich Tank Panniers were slashed (I had small pad locks on the zipper pulls). Pulling the key out of the ignition I opened the top box. My helmet was gone.

That's not all. My riding pants were gone. But oddly enough, my boots were still in there. Nearly anything of value was stolen:

$499 BMW Rallye2 Pants (gry/blk size 42R)
$279 ea. BMW GoreTex Rallye II liners (sold with riding gear; I packed in a stuff sack in pannier. Replace jacket only; liner comes with pants $279)
$250 Caberg Justissimo Helmet (sadly no longer available in USA)

$200 BMW Heated Vest

$159 Held Steve Gloves (size 7.5)

$130 Held Hawk Cold Weather Gloves (size 8) no longer available replaced new model

$127 Aerostich Ultralight Bike Cover (lg)
$117 Aerostich Tank Panniers (std. blk.)
$ 80 Held Air Gloves (size 7)

$ 79 Petzl Myo XP Led Headlamp
$ 47 Digital MultiMeter (mini)
$ 44 Eagle Creek Pack-It Cubes (2 half; 2 qtr)

$ 25 Craftsman Screwdriver Set, Ratcheting
$ 25 Sears Digital Tire Gauge
$ 15 Silk Bacalava
$ 12 Silk Glove Liners

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