O’Hare Airport, 2:22 p.m. – I’m sitting in the FOX Sports lounge enjoying a brew and trying not to jump out of my pants. Why? I’m about to embark on the road trip of a lifetime. Well, at least my lifetime.
My interpretation of this remark is that one must strive to have a good time while alive. I’ve had my fair share of absolutely amazing life experiences. I’ve traveled the country up and down both coasts as well as through the heartland and I’ve been to several different international destinations. I’m not writing this to toot my own horn and tell you how cool I am.
Rather, I’m here to tell you that I learned how to ride a motorcycle two weeks ago… on a Harley no less. The feeling of the air hitting you in the chest at 70 mph is a rush I cannot describe… part freaked out and part calming, but all together a rush!
My brother, the man that looks like he owns a Harley (he does – two of them), invited me to road trip down HWY 101 (PCH) to California (from Yakima, WA) and see where it takes us. Knowing him, I’m assuming we’ll see a real Mexican dance show, drive through the Big Easy and have enough experiences by the time I get back to be lead storyteller at our next camping outing.
Like my newly grown beard allows me the freedom to look like a vagabond… or king in some centuries, I figured a road trip on a Harley would open up a chapter of my life I’ve never felt. I’m guessing I’m in for the ride of my life.
I land in Yakima around midnight (thank you long Seattle layover). We pack, (jeans for the bike, coat for the mountains, shorts for the beach and flip flops for style), sleep a few hours, wake up, get my motorcycle license and hit the road. Where are we going?
“Nowhere 55 baby, nowhere 55.”