The Road to Hell

Motorcycles were never intended to sit idle for lengths at a time, nor to be ridden around town to run errands.

At least not a sport tourer like the Honda ST.

It waits patiently in the garage, thinking of the next long ride. I open the door and look at it, and it looks back. Its spirit awakens, like a resting dog lifting its head up off the floor, analyzing my every move.

Some people prefer to dig their roots down deep, build a home and settle into their community. Others are just transitory, looking and waiting for the right moment to start their lives. And then some of us just keep moving on.

We build a dam to hold back the water to create something that will sustain ourselves for a lifetime. It's a continuous job of checking for cracks, patching holes, upgrading equipment, and managing people. And even when you've done your best, the water level rises and you just can't hold it back any longer.

And then, I just want to ride away.

I don my jacket, pick up my helmet, and I can feel that motorcycle connecting with me already. The engine fires up with a sense of resolution that I'll solve these problems once more.

Ah! A freeway never felt so good.

Weaving in and out of traffic, as fast as I can, with no particular direction other than to get out, I can feel the pressure lifting.

Phoenix? Too hot.

Las Vegas? Too much trouble.

Santa Barbara? Too expensive.

Big cities are good for blending into the background. Small towns seem pretty, but everyone knows you. I'm not sure where, just listen to my heart and see what the road brings.

I never intended to cause trouble or pain for anyone. I only wanted to live, love, and laugh. But each of us have dirty laundry, sharing our lives with others always seems to end up hurting someone.

I've heard it said that, "The road to Hell is paved with good intentions", yet I can always jump on my motorcycle and find another road.

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Coming a Thousand Miles, Day 5

Just over one thousand miles separates Casper, WY from my home in Menifee, CA. And yet it doesn't seem like much at all.

I left Provo, UT on my shortened motorcycle ride to make the final 650 miles back home, and all of it on the slab.

For me, just riding the ST1300 is better than not riding at all, no matter if it's on the Interstate or a narrow piece of pavement up a mountain.

And even though my two to three week motorcycle trip was shortened to five days, it seems I still gained the focus and clarity I needed to refresh my conscience. I've been struggling with a conflict between my past and my future, between my mind and my heart, between obligation and freedom. I've become so imprisoned, of my own doing, with guilt and responsibility, that I couldn't feel free to be myself.

Only riding the ST for an extended trip into nowhere particular was all I had to break away, but even that's only temporary.


The ride south along I-15 through Utah, Nevada, and California was hot. It peaked at 115 degrees F through a 20 mile stretch from Baker, CA to Yermo, CA. At that hot, the wind heats up, it doesn't cool down. My leather jacket, with all of its vents open, kept me from dehydrating too quickly.

I saw many cars broken down on the side of the road, all of them abandoned as roadside service vehicles were out in full force.

I knew that one flat tire on my ST, or anything else that went wrong, would leave me stranded on the side of the road as well, but without air conditioning or shade. When temperatures are that hot, you don't realize how precarious the situation is until you're fully immersed in it.

When I finally got home, I made my resolve and addressed the issues I had come back to address. Even in this day, when cell phones make it possible to text, e-mail, or call from anywhere, I needed to do this in person to express myself fully, and move forward with a greater sense of freedom.

And now I've come a thousand miles in conscience alone.

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When You Can Finally See the Horizon, Day 4

Highway 220, Wyoming

Realizing the situation was urgent, I packed up my things and began heading home. This trip I was on was supposed to go two to three weeks, and yet I was already making my way back home after three days.

In another perspective, I had seen much of Wyoming, which consisted of mostly hills and grass. But in a way it was quite stunning to see how vast countryside can be when you don't have all the buildings in the way.

Though Wyoming didn't offer much in the way of twisties, it provided lots of solitude. Highways are sparse with traffic. I'd pull the bike over to get a panorama shot of the landscape and never see another vehicle for miles in either direction.

And solitude was why I did this ride. I needed time to get back in touch with myself, clear my head and feel my soul once more.

What it is that we seek in our lives often gets clouded over by the smaller things that pull on us from every direction. You find yourself managing your life instead of living it.

Somehow a place so vast and so open as Wyoming lets you see past those details and puts the horizon into focus.

Highway 220, Wyoming

But I needed to get home fast.

Once I rolled into Rawlins, WY, I jumped on the I-80 West and did 90mph into Utah, and then Highway 189 into Provo. And somehow there were no cops to be seen.

I was fortunate to have sunshine all the way, except for when I got into Provo. That's when it dumped rain all over me. It poured in buckets. I looked further south and saw only more storm clouds.

So I chose to get a room for the night in Provo.

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