Tuesday, July 16, 2013

On Becoming a Brand

road pickle
After reading Sash's recent post about extending our six-month motorcycle road trip into an indefinite period of time, you've probably figured by now that we're just going to ride forever. And you might be right.

I think about going back home, often. But where is home anyway?

We moved out of our apartment, gave up on the lease. There is no home to go to.

Two-and-a-half months into this road trip, I still feel as if I never left home. All I have with me, the familiar things, my motorcycle, my laptop, and Sash herself, are my home.

Honestly, I think about where we are, geographically, and what comes to mind is how backlogged I am with my work, how long we have left staying in this motel/hotel, and how much Sash makes me feel comfortable. Right now, for example, we're in Norfolk, VA, and it doesn't really matter to me. I could be in Bangor, ME or in Corpus Christie, TX, and I'd still feel the same.

So if I went back to San Diego, what would I do there?

I'd do all the same stuff: my work, ride my motorcycle, hang out at the bar, have sex at night.

Staying in San Diego for years at a time, doesn't change the way I feel inside, or make me more at ease. If anything, it just gives me the same scenery and offers me the same bar to hang out at. I like having a new city to sleep in every week or so, even if I don't go out and see much of it, I like the idea that the few things I have with me seem to be the only things I need.

A few days ago, Sash and I attended a picnic held by a local motorcycle group called Tidewater Bikers. They invited us after the owners of Precision Motorcycles told them that the Road Pickle crew had just left one of their bikes with them for maintenance. When we went to the picnic, one of the women there said, "Oh my God, you're the Road Pickle lady!"

The Road Pickle Lady.

Doesn't that say it all right there?

We could go back to San Diego and just let it all end right there. But thus far, Road Pickle has given Sash and I an identity we've never had. Now, we stand for something within the greater motorcycle community, and during the time other people have reached out to us to say that we've inspired them in some way or another. So why let all that momentum end?

So now, when people ask me where I'm from, do I still say that I'm from San Diego?


  1. Earth, just tell people you are from earth.

    I guess this kind of proves that home is where your heart (or motorcycle) is.

    Sex at night? - don't restrict yourself man - you're missing out. :-)

    1. No restrictions Trobairitz. We work all day. Ha ha ha!! We ignore each other, laptop to laptop in Starbucks, listening to the rumble in the background, soaking in the essence of the people, writing.

      At night we lie down and find one another after being "in the world" all day. In our apartment in San Diego we would take "naps" in the afternoon, but that has even shifted.

      It's all part of the ebb and flow of listening to our bodies and meeting needs as they arise, rather than setting out to accomplish things.

      Besides, if I had my way, we would never get out of bed. . .


    2. Well, we could have sex all throughout the day, but then again, someone has to make money around here to keep the welfare system funded.

    3. I tease, I tease. I just couldn't resist.

  2. Must be nice to look at the world like that. I dream of it at least once a week.

  3. We enjoyed having you at our cookout. Come back sometime..

    Tidewater Bikers...

  4. Was nice to have you guys at our event ride safe!

  5. You guys can't ever "Go" home again... because you ARE home.

    If you were hermited up in some self imposed emotional exile hiding in the dark it might be an unhealthy thing? or folks might could say you were "running away" from life? But damn... look at you! You're plugged in. You're engaged. You're running all right. Straight toward the guns!

    Know what? I wrote about living out beyond the fringe of the light the other day... and it seems to me, that a wondrous thing is happening here, right in front of our eyes. You've stepped in out of that dark a ways, and this time, finally, the s.o.b. that takes those warning shots got slapped down and one of those around the fire... walked out and handed you a cold beer.

    It's a pretty awesome thing to see.

    When asked where I'm from I usually say something like; "Here abouts for a couple of weeks!"

    Ride Far, Ride Safe.

  6. When I grow up, I want to be just like you!


About Steve

A vagabond who hauls a motorcycle around the country in a toy hauler, earning a living as a website developer. Can often be found where there's free Wi-Fi, craft beer, and/or public nudity. (Read more...)