GoGo Blackwater

I've posted her before but more won't hurt, my new favorite tattoo model. 

Because Max Schaaf is goofy cool.

Because Max Schaaf is goofy cool.

 

 

Busy busy busy

Riding and gliding and putting on the miles. Nothing fancy or exciting just the day to day grind, the end of the year is usually busy for me. A few 30 and 40 degree days but still sunny. Every day is a good day to ride, some just better than others. 

Happy Halloween

One thing can be said for the greater New Orleans area, we have amazing cemeteries. Happy Halloween everybody, be safe. 

Perceptions......

This year I was lucky enough to make two "long" trips, a 1,000+ mile and a 2,000 mile trip. So I was talking to a buddy of mine and he was saying how he wasn't able to make trips like Barry and I. Wait, Did you just say “Like Barry and I?” Did you just lump my trips in the same category as Barry? That’s a big honor to say the least since last year Barry and Jen made that epic nationwide tour on their choppers. Well it really got me to thinking about perception and influence. To so many people that cross country ride was so very important. Many of us lived vicariously through the pics they posted and the periodic check-ins on the HC site. And some of us even had the privilage of riding with or hosting them in our cities when they passed through, myself included. That trip was amazing and everyone just ate it up, it was the trip that movies are quite literally made of. We all sat back in awe and daydreamed of our own trips we would take if we were only capable.
 
I was personally inspired to start this blog because of Barry and what he was doing. I remember thinking I wanted to inspire people like I had been inspired. I spend a lot of time riding my chop and it garners quite a bit of attention. I am always spending time talking to people about riding and building. From parking lots to stop lights people just want to talk about my bike. It’s nothing special but no one in this area is doing what I do, I’m still unique in a way, though my chop and I would probably be a dime a dozen out west.

So when my buddy lumped me in with Barry I was flattered, but it made me realize that we all have something to give. I might look at Barry and Jens 15,000 or so miles and be blown away and rightfully so, I haven’t come close to putting on those kinda miles. But I know I have blown away people in the Wal-Mart parking lot just by having the bike, regardless of how much I ride. Some people are like I was and think having a chop is a dream within a dream, unattainable. I try to let people know about back yard building and just getting out and doing it, start somewhere, with anything.

I guess what I’m trying to get at is we all bring something to the table because there is always that one guy who is one step behind you, the one guy who hasn’t had the chance yet. The one guy who has never been told “yes you can”. So start something now, spread your wings and do what you can, even if it’s not a big road trip, it doesn’t matter because you never know who your going to inspire. The beauty of the art lies in the doing and so does the inspiration, regardless of the “level”. Thanks Barry and Jen for such an epic trip, thanks to all those that inspire me and thank you to all those I have talked to at gas pumps and stop lights and in parking lots and said you were inspired. I’m grateful to be both.

motorcycle videos....because I can't get enough

I come across this stuff and I enjoy them so I figure you might too. You can pick up the coolest little tidbits of ideas from stuff like this. Good music, good videography...enjoy!

A little quick fix for a slipping grip I wrote for Wrench Junkies

http://wrenchjunkies.blogspot.com/2013/08/slippin-while-grippin-as-your-trippin.html

The Women's Motorcycle Exhibit

I like women and I like motorcycles so I guess it just fits. Pretty interesting. Visit the site and watch this video.  
  
                                                    http://womensmotoexhibit.com/#/i/0

Wrench Junkies

Heres a little write up I did on changing your brake pads on HD calipers for my other blog with Wizard called Wrench Junkies. Check it out.

http://wrenchjunkies.blogspot.com/2013/09/changing-brake-pads.html

Life behind bars

Busy Busy Busy

Well I haven't had much time lately to blog anything, I've been very busy working 1st and 2nd and 3rd jobs. Weather is starting to cool off so my morning rides to and from work are nice. Afternoons are still hot as balls, but to be expected, it's southern Louisiana. I am lucky that I get to ride every day since my chop is my main mode of transportation. I put on 10,000 miles this year and it's been great. I do have some engine work I want to do but it's tough since it's my main ride and it's riding weather year round down here. I'll probably push it till it's absolutely needed. I hope everyone is doing well and they are living their dreams as best they can. Ride on!

Wabi Sabi

I remember first coming across this word when I was throwing pottery around 1999-2003ish while living in Jacksonville Florida. It of course was in reference to imperfect and uneven pieces that we created in the studio. It was always very intriguing to me how when one tried to create the essence of Wabi Sabi in pottery it ended up being too contrived and just looked ridiculous. Another example that comes to mind is rat bikes and rat rods. I was watching an episode of Pawn Stars and some guy came in wanting to sell a custom rat bike. When they went out to look at it I wanted to scream at the TV ( I think I actually did ) This idiot had built a brand new chop using brand new parts he "roughed up" and gave a bit of a faux patina. It was infuriating. Just using a Jägermeister bottle as an overflow doesn't qualify as re-purposing and nor does it make a rat bike. A true rat is born out of poverty and necessity, PERIOD. A true rat is wabi sabi. The essence of Wabi Sabi is born from the natural state of imperfection, you cannot truly create it, and if you try your ill executed attempt will be so obvious it will only breed contempt for you work. It's a neat concept for sure. I pulled this from the web and I thought it was a good read. Enjoy.


                              http://www.nobleharbor.com/tea/chado/WhatIsWabi-Sabi.htm

WHAT IS WABI-SABI?

The Japanese view of life embraced a simple aesthetic
that grew stronger as inessentials were eliminated
and trimmed away.

-architect Tadao Ando

Pared down to its barest essence, wabi-sabi is the Japanese art of finding beauty in imperfection and profundity in nature, of accepting the natural cycle of growth, decay, and death. It's simple, slow, and uncluttered-and it reveres authenticity above all. Wabi-sabi is flea markets, not warehouse stores; aged wood, not Pergo; rice paper, not glass. It celebrates cracks and crevices and all the other marks that time, weather, and loving use leave behind. It reminds us that we are all but transient beings on this planet-that our bodies as well as the material world around us are in the process of returning to the dust from which we came. Through wabi-sabi, we learn to embrace liver spots, rust, and frayed edges, and the march of time they represent.

Wabi-sabi is underplayed and modest, the kind of quiet, undeclared beauty that waits patiently to be discovered. It's a fragmentary glimpse: the branch representing the entire tree, shoji screens filtering the sun, the moon 90 percent obscured behind a ribbon of cloud. It's a richly mellow beauty that's striking but not obvious, that you can imagine having around you for a long, long time-Katherine Hepburn versus Marilyn Monroe. For the Japanese, it's the difference between kirei-merely "pretty"-and omoshiroi, the interestingness that kicks something into the realm of beautiful. (Omoshiroi literally means "white faced," but its meanings range from fascinating to fantastic.) It's the peace found in a moss garden, the musty smell of geraniums, the astringent taste of powdered green tea. My favorite Japanese phrase for describing wabi-sabi is "natsukashii furusato," or an old memory of my hometown. (This is a prevalent mind-set in Japan these days, as people born in major urban areas such as Tokyo and Osaka wax nostalgic over grandparents' country houses that perhaps never were. They can even "rent" grandparents who live in prototypical country houses and spend the weekend there.)

Daisetz T. Suzuki, who was one of Japan's foremost English-speaking authorities on Zen Buddhism and one of the first scholars to interpret Japanese culture for Westerners, described wabi-sabi as "an active aesthetical appreciation of poverty." He was referring to poverty not as we in the West interpret (and fear) it but in the more romantic sense of removing the huge weight of material concerns from our lives. "Wabi is to be satisfied with a little hut, a room of two or three tatami mats, like the log cabin of Thoreau," he wrote, "and with a dish of vegetables picked in the neighboring fields, and perhaps to be listening to the pattering of a gentle spring rainfall."

In Japan, there is a marked difference between a Thoreau-like wabibito (wabi person), who is free in his heart, and a makoto no hinjin, a more Dickensian character whose poor circumstances make him desperate and pitiful. The ability to make do with less is revered; I heard someone refer to a wabibito as a person who could make something complete out of eight parts when most of us would use ten. For us in the West, this might mean choosing a smaller house or a smaller car, or-just as a means of getting started-refusing to supersize our fries.

The words wabi and sabi were not always linked, although they've been together for such a long time that many people (including D. T. Suzuki) use them interchangeably. One tea teacher I talked with begged me not to use the phrase wabi-sabi because she believes the marriage dilutes their separate identities; a tea master in Kyoto laughed and said they're thrown together because it sounds catchy, kind of like Ping-Pong. In fact, the two words do have distinct meanings, although most people don't fully agree on what they might be.

Wabi stems from the root wa, which refers to harmony, peace, tranquillity, and balance. Generally speaking, wabi had the original meaning of sad, desolate, and lonely, but poetically it has come to mean simple, unmaterialistic, humble by choice, and in tune with nature. Someone who is perfectly herself and never craves to be anything else would be described as wabi. Sixteenth-century tea master Jo-o described a wabi tea man as someone who feels no dissatisfaction even though he owns no Chinese utensils with which to conduct tea. A common phrase used in conjunction with wabi is "the joy of the little monk in his wind-torn robe." A wabi person epitomizes Zen, which is to say, he or she is content with very little; free from greed, indolence, and anger; and understands the wisdom of rocks and grasshoppers.

Until the fourteenth century, when Japanese society came to admire monks and hermits for their spiritual asceticism, wabi was a pejorative term used to describe cheerless, miserable outcasts. Even today, undertones of desolation and abandonment cling to the word, sometimes used to describe the helpless feeling you have when waiting for your lover. It also carries a hint of dissatisfaction in its underhanded criticism of gaud and ostentation-the defining mark of the ruling classes when wabisuki (a taste for all things wabi) exploded in the sixteenth century. In a country ruled by warlords who were expected to be conspicuous consumers, wabi became known as "the aesthetic of the people"-the lifestyle of the everday samurai, who had little in the way of material comforts.

Sabi by itself means "the bloom of time." It connotes natural progression-tarnish, hoariness, rust-the extinguished gloss of that which once sparkled. It's the understanding that beauty is fleeting. The word's meaning has changed over time, from its ancient definition, "to be desolate," to the more neutral "to grow old." By the thirteenth century, sabi's meaning had evolved into taking pleasure in things that were old and faded. A proverb emerged: "Time is kind to things, but unkind to man."

Sabi things carry the burden of their years with dignity and grace: the chilly mottled surface of an oxidized silver bowl, the yielding gray of weathered wood, the elegant withering of a bereft autumn bough. An old car left in a field to rust, as it transforms from an eyesore into a part of the landscape, could be considered America's contribution to the evolution of sabi. An abandoned barn, as it collapses in on itself, holds this mystique.

There's an aching poetry in things that carry this patina, and it transcends the Japanese. We Americans are ineffably drawn to old European towns with their crooked cobblestone streets and chipping plaster, to places battle scarred with history much deeper than our own. We seek sabi in antiques and even try to manufacture it in distressed furnishings. True sabi cannot be acquired, however. It is a gift of time.

So now we have wabi, which is humble and simple, and sabi, which is rusty and weathered. And we've thrown these terms together into a phrase that rolls off the tongue like Ping-Pong. Does that mean, then, that the wabi-sabi house is full of things that are humble, plain, rusty, and weathered? That's the easy answer. The amalgamation of wabi and sabi in practice, however, takes on much more depth.

In home decor, wabi-sabi inspires a minimalism that celebrates the human rather than the machine. Possessions are pared down, and pared down again, until only those that are necessary for their utility or beauty (and ideally both) are left. What makes the cut? Items that you both admire and love to use, like those hand-crank eggbeaters that still work just fine. Things that resonate with the spirit of their makers' hands and hearts: the chair your grandfather made, your six-year-old's lumpy pottery, an afghan you knitted yourself (out of handspun sheep's wool, perhaps). Pieces of your own history: sepia-toned ancestral photos, baby shoes, the Nancy Drew mysteries you read over and over again as a kid.

Wabi-sabi interiors tend to be muted, dimly lit, and shadowy-giving the rooms an enveloping, womblike feeling. Natural materials that are vulnerable to weathering, warping, shrinking, cracking, and peeling lend an air of perishability. The palette is drawn from browns, blacks, grays, earthy greens, and rusts. This implies a lack of freedom but actually affords an opportunity for innovation and creativity. In Japan, kimonos come in a hundred different shades of gray. You simply have to hone your vision

so you can see, and feel, them all.

WABI, NOT SLOBBY

Wabi-sabi can be exploited in all sorts of ways, and one of the most tempting is to use it as an excuse to shrug off an unmade bed, an unswept floor, or a soiled sofa. "Oh, that. Well, that's just wabi-sabi." My nine-year-old son, Stacey, loves this tactic.

How tempting it might be to let the split running down the sofa cushion seam continue on its merry way, calling it wabi-sabi. To spend Saturday afternoon at the movies and let the dust settle into the rugs: wabi sabi. To buy five extra minutes of sleep every morning by not making the bed-as a wabi-sabi statement, of course. And how do you know when you've gone too far-when you' ve crossed over from simple, serene, and rustic to Uber-distress?

A solid yellow line separates tattered and shabby, dust and dirt from something worthy of veneration. Wabi-sabi is never messy or slovenly. Worn things take on their magic only in settings where it's clear they don't harbor bugs or grime. One senses that they've survived to bear the marks of time precisely because they've been so well cared for throughout the years. Even the most rare and expensive of antiques will never play well in a house that's cluttered or dirty.

Cleanliness implies respect. Both ancient and modern tea masters teach that even the poorest wabi tea person should always use fresh green bamboo utensils and new white cloths for wiping the tea bowl. In tea, the host's cleanliness is considered a clear indicator of his state of mind and his devotion to the way of tea. Chanoyu Ichieshu, a tea textbook published in 1956, even goes so far as to advise guests to look into the host's toilet if they wish to understand his spiritual training.

I'm definitely not advocating this extreme. In fact, I'm mortified at the thought of anyone judging me on the state of my own toilets. But the tea masters' point is valid: Spaces that have been thoroughly and lovingly cleaned are ultimately more welcoming. When the bed is neatly made, the romance of a frayed quilt blossoms. The character imparted by a wood floor's knots and crevices shines through when the crumbs are swept away. A scrubbed but faded kilim, thrown over a sofa that's seen one too many stains, transforms it into an irresistible place to rest.

Wabi-sabi's roots lie in Zen Buddhism, which was brought from China to Japan by Eisai, a twelfth-century monk. Zen, with its principles of vast emptiness and nothing holy, stresses austerity, communion with nature, and above all, reverence for everyday life as the real path to enlightenment. To reach enlightenment, Zen monks lived ascetic, often isolated lives and sat for long periods of concentrated meditation.

To help his fellow monks stay awake during these excruciating meditation sessions, Eisai taught them how to process tea leaves into a hot drink. Once Eisai was gone, though, tea took on a very different life of its own. Around the fourteenth century, the upper classes developed elaborate rituals involving tea. Large tearooms were built in an ostentatious style known as shoin, with numerous Chinese hanging scrolls and a formal arrangement of tables for flower vases and incense burners. Tea practitioners proved their wealth and status through their collections of elegant Chinese-style tea utensils during three-day weekenders where up to one hundred cups of tea-as well as food and sake-were served.

Then along came Murata Shuko, an influential tea master who also happened to be a Zen monk. In a radical fashion departure, Shuko began using understated, locally produced utensils during his tea gatherings. Saying "it is good to tie a praised horse to a straw-thatched house," he combined rough, plain wares with famed Chinese utensils, and the striking contrast made both look more interesting. Shuko's successor, Jo-o, was even more critical of men whose zeal for rare or famed utensils was their main motivation for conducting tea. Jo-o began using everyday items such as the mentsu, a wooden pilgrim's eating bowl, as a wastewater container, and a Shigaraki onioke, a stoneware bucket used in silk dyeing, as a water jar. He brought unadorned celadon and Korean peasant wares into the tearoom.

It was Jo-o's disciple Sen no Rikyu, however, who is widely credited with establishing the quiet, simple ceremony that made it possible for everyone-not just the wealthy-to practice tea. In the sixteenth century-the beginning of an age of peace following several long centuries of civil war in Japan-gaudiness was all the rage, and Rikyu's tea became an oasis of quiet, simple taste. He served tea in bowls made by anonymous Korean potters and indigenous Japanese craftsmen, the most famous of which are the Raku family's style. He created tiny tea huts (one and a half tatami mats, as opposed to the four-and-one-half- to eighteen-mat rooms that had been the norm) based on the traditional farmer's hut of rough mud walls, a thatched roof, and organically shaped exposed wood structural elements. The hut included a nijiriguchi, a low entryway that forced guests to bow and experience humility as they entered. Rikyu made some of his own utensils of unlacquered bamboo (as common as crabgrass in Japan, but nowadays a Rikyu original is worth as much as a Leonardo da Vinci painting), and he arranged flowers simply and naturally in bamboo vases (shakuhachi) and baskets. Rikyu 's ceremony became known as wabichado (chado means "the way of tea"), and it endures in Japan to this day.

We Westerners tend to scratch our heads at the thought of four hours spent sitting on our knees, participating in an elaborate ritual during which a charcoal fire is built, a meal of seasonal delicacies is served with sake, one bowl of green tea is made and shared among the guests, and then individual bowls of frothy thin tea are made by whisking hot water and matcha. What most of us don't realize, however, is that tea embodies so much of the beauty that makes up Japanese culture. To truly understand tea, you must also study poetry, art, literature, architecture, legacy, and history. Tea practitioners are accomplished in the arts of flowers, fine cuisine, and-perhaps most important-etiquette (sarei). And the four principles of tea-harmony (wa), respect (kei), purity (sei), and tranquillity (jaku)-could of course be the means to any good life.

Tea, in its current form, was born out of a medieval society rife with terrible warfare, yet the samurai were willing to set aside their rank-and their swords-to become equals within the tearoom. The room's design is deliberately simple and clean; it's meant to be a sanctuary. "In this thatched hut there ought not to be a speck of dust of any kind; both master and visitors are expected to be on terms of absolute sincerity; no ordinary measures of proportion or etiquette or conventionalism are to be followed," declares Nanbo-roku, one of most ancient and important textbooks on tea. "A fire is made, water is boiled, and tea is served; this is all that is needed here, no other worldly considerations are to intrude." As soon as we enter the tearoom, we're asked to shake off our woes and worries and connect with others, "face harmonious, words loving."

"Tea brings people together in a nonthreatening place to escape the modern world, then they can go back out and take that with them," Gary Cadwallader, an American-born tea master who teaches at the Urasenke Center in Kyoto, explained to me. It seems to me that we Americans who lack the time-or the desire-to learn tea could take the essence of that statement and apply it to our own lives.

"If a friend visits you, make him tea, wish him welcome warmly with hospitality," Jo-o, one of Japan's earliest tea masters, wrote. "Set some flowers and make him feel comfortable." This is embodied in a common Japanese phrase, "shaza kissa," which translates, "Well, sit down and have some tea." What if we adopted that phrase and learned to say it more often-when the kids get home from school (before the rush to hockey and ballet), when our neighbor stops by, when we feel our annoyance level with our spouse starting to rise? If we just allowed ourselves to stop for a moment, sit down together, and share a cup of tea, what might that moment bring?

In learning tea, we're constantly reminded that every meeting is a once-in-a-lifetime occasion to enjoy good company, beautiful art, and a cup of tea. We never know what might happen tomorrow, or even later today. Stopping whatever it is that's so important (dishes, bill paying, work deadlines) to share conversation and a cup of tea with someone you love-or might love-is an easy opportunity to promote peace. It is from this place of peace, harmony, and fellowship that the true wabi-sabi spirit emerges.

Wabi-sabi is not a decorating "style" but rather a mind-set. There's no list of rules; we can't hang crystals or move our beds and wait for peace to befall us. Creating a wabi-sabi home is the direct result of developing our wabigokoro, or wabi mind and heart: living modestly, learning to be satisfied with life as it can be once we strip away the unnecessary, living in the moment. You see? Simple as that.

This is tough in any culture, of course, but darned near impossible in our own. In America we're plied daily with sales pitches that will help us improve ourselves, our circumstances, our homes. We can have the whitest teeth, the cleanest carpets, and the biggest SUV money can buy. All of this flies in the face of wabigokoro, as described in Rikyu's sacred tea text, Nanporoku. "A luxurious house and the taste of delicacies are only pleasures of the mundane world," he wrote. "It is enough if the house does not leak and the food keeps hunger away. This is the teaching of the Buddha-the true meaning of chado."

This is un-American. Or is it? I believe there exists in all of us a longing for something deeper than the whitest teeth, sparkling floors, and eight cylinders. What if we could learn to be content with our lives, exactly as they are today? It's a lofty thought...but one that's certainly worth entertaining.

You can start cultivating this mind-set in small ways, taking a lesson from tea. In learning to conduct tea, we're taught to handle every utensil, from the bamboo water scoop to the tea bowl, as if it were precious, with the same respect and care we would use to handle a rare antique. You can do the same thing with the items you use every day.

You can also read more... by reading the wonderful book this came from: "the wabi-sabi house,the Japanese art of imperfect beauty" www.wabisabihouse.com by Robyn Griggs Lawrence. Robyn's book puts it in perspective, using evocative descriptions of modern designs using salvaged materials and (local?) artisan wares. All in all a unique insight into a true way of life.

Lowbrow Customs and Bonneville Speed Week 2013

Congrats to the Guys at Lowbrow Customs on another great year setting records at Bonneville.

Record #1

"145.009 mph top speed this morning, qualifying a new record at 140.21 mph,up from 128. Next on the agenda, breaking 150 mph. Plenty of gearing to go! - Tyler"

 

 

 

Record # 2

 

"That's record #2, average of 151.448 mph on a 135 mph knucklehead record. Top speed so far 152.529. Onwards and upwards."

 

‪‬‪‬‪‬

 

 

Hedonism

Because pleasure is good 

More Pics 2

More Pics

More Pics of the Trip North

Flatlands Trip

I had a choice this year, either hit the WHCM in North Carolina or go see my dad in Illinois. I have never been to the WHCM and I was excited to go. Those plans got a wrench thrown into them when I found out my dad had a heart attack, actually a heart attack, 3 stints and a second heart attack. So getting up to Illinois was a priority, at 74 he wasn't getting any younger and these heart attacks put a fire under my ass since it had been 5 years since I had seen him. I laid out my trip so I could have a visitation on a Friday and a Monday and squeeze in a run over to Indy to see family there. So with my plans laid out and my chop packed up I set out early on a Thursday morning from the New Orleans area (I actually live on the north side of the lake) and headed north. Until I got to Illinois this ride was going to be about making miles and making them quick so the interstate was my choice route.
The trip up was going good and the chop was running great and I was averaging around 55 miles a gallon. When I hit Memphis I stopped to hook up with a fellow HCMF, Angelo. The timing was a little off but after a small layover and a few extra miles we met in a BK parking lot. I didn't actually have much time and I wanted to bail out of Memphis before rush hour traffic. Angelo was really nice and his chop is fucking beautiful and runs good. I am always impressed by such nice bikes like his. I love my rat bike but the details on his bike were really nice. A brief hello and and a brief goodbye later I was back at it. I had nearly 650 miles planned on the books for that day so I had to get to steppin'.
My next stop would be in southern Illinois at Jen's house for the night. It was nearly dark when I pulled in and she had a delicious meatloaf and potatoes dish waiting for me. A full belly and some good conversation later I slept pretty hard. The alarm was set early so I could make my way to Centralia to see my dad. Jen had planned on riding with me and hanging out while I did my business. As soon we pulled out I noticed something wrong with my bike. It was winding out but I wasn't getting any power to the wheel. We pulled over and thought it out and Jen made a run back to her place to get a little oil since I was low. I added some oil and we limped into Harrisburg and grabbed a bite to eat and then on to Centralia. It was acting a little better but still jacked up. After my visit we jammed north into Champaign to meet up at Barry's place. He had some of the Flatlander's over and had prepared a little bonfire for my visit. It was cool to meet some new people and have some great conversation. We brainstormed my problem and had decided a clutch basket replacement might be in order. It was late Friday and I decided to deal with it on Saturday morning. Before settling into the bonfire to forget about my problems someone noticed my clutch cable was hella tight and suggested that an adjustment might be in order before doing anything drastic. Again, the morning came early but I was excited to get my bike back in good running order. Jen had gotten up about the same time so we made our way out to the garage. She had just done a textbook clutch cable adjustment on her bike and walked me through the procedure (thanks Jen). I took it out and hit some back roads and slammed it through the gears, sure as shit it ran like a champ. Needless to say I was a happy camper.
I got in a visit with an old friend who is like a second father to me (love you Mark) and then hooked back up with Barry and Jen to grab a quick bite to eat from La Bamba's before we hit the back roads to Indy.
They had planned on accompanying me to the Illinois/Indiana border. We headed east and then took 1 south out of Danville, Illinois and when it intersected 36 we each went our respective ways. I went east on 36 to Indy while Jen stayed on 1 south and Barry went 36 west. It was a neat departure point and made me sad a bit. I am used to riding alone and just being able to ride with Jen and Barry and hang with the Flatlanders like I did was just too cool. Seeing a garage full of chops and so many people being savvy to backyard chopping was awesome. (You guys have a cool deal, enjoy it while it lasts.)
I was now alone again and a little sad but so excited for what I had been so fortunate to be a part of over the last two days. I made my way into Indiana past Raccoon Lake on the Ernie Pyle Memorial Highway. It was a beautiful ride and there was a ton of motorcycles out. I ended up behind a pack of about 10 or 12 Harley's, weekend baggers who had all the "best" gear. It was funny because I definitely looked out of place among them on my Honda rat chop laden with all my gear, I was the dust at the back of a glistening stream of chrome. I got to my moms house late Saturday and had a good little dinner with my mom, sister and niece. On Sunday we had what ended up being a family reunion of sorts due to my visit. It was amazing for me because I saw people I hadn't seen in 20 years or more. It was great to catch up and to those of you reading I won't be so scarce from now on. I love you all.
Monday morning came and it was just before dawn when I pulled out, headed back to Centralia to catch a second visit with my dad and I would be riding alone from here on out. It was a gorgeous sunrise over the Indiana landscape I was really enjoying the scenery. My second visit went well and as I left I knew my dad would be going into the yard next to the parking lot where my chop was parked so I lingered a bit waiting for him to get out there. I waved across the fence and fired up my chop. It was cool because a few of the guys got excited and I made a slow pass along the road nearest the fence, waving. He and several of the guys waved and I could feel their excitement. It was a bit of a big deal for me to have my dad see me ride away, he hasn't known me in the capacity in which I exist now so I guess I was hoping he would be proud. He hasn't been around me since I moved south in '98 and he went in when I was 25 (I'm now 37) I wasn't the little boy he used to know anymore.
With lots on my mind I motored south. I had already done 200 miles and spent nearly five and a half hours at the prison with security and the visit. I wanted to hit south of Memphis before the day was over and grab a cheap hotel. I hit rain storm after rain storm, seven to be precise, and road through all but two. One had lightening and the other had a cross wind that almost blew me off the road before I could get stopped. I finally made it to my desired exit in Senatobia Mississippi and stayed in a super crap motel. I had ridden 500+ miles that day plus the visit with my dad. I stripped my chop down of anything that might be able to be taken and the counter lady let me park it on the sidewalk right in front of the office. I put my lock on the rear tire and went to my room to shower and get some much needed sleep. I was hoping to get a ground floor so I could just pull my bike in but no doing, they were all sold out of ground floors. I woke up the next morning and repacked my chop, grabbing a few muffins and some OJ from the breakfast bar. I was anxious to get home and see my family and I still had about 350 miles to go.
The rest of the day went well and I hit one last rain storm about fifteen minutes from my house. I pulled in wet and happy about 2 pm. Nearly 2000 miles total and a whole lot of visiting and hanging out made for a great trip. A special thanks to Jen, Barry, Angelo, Mark and my mom (among so many others) for making this a trip to remember. You all rock.

Please check out my previous blog posts for some pics.

the route

Some Instagram action.

Because filters are fun. 

Some trip pics from my run up north