RockMoto

I used to have a knack for getting lost. That’s what happens when you’re not saddled with good judgment or a pesky sense of direction. But now I’m so damned organized about everything that there’s no sense of adventure. I can’t even remember the last time I took a wrong turn. Or, sadly, the last time I accidentally discovered a new road.

Most of my riding these days, aside from my daily slogging up and down the 405, is on canyon roads I already know, or routes someone else has ridden and recommended. So I go off of tips from friends and (paper!) maps of SoCal. It has been so, so long since I turned onto an unknown road just to see where it goes. Or set out with no specific destination in mind. What happened to me? When did I become so…responsible?

Some years ago, I did a solo ride that gave me some of my most amazing, and some of my scariest, moments ever on a bike. I flew to Atlanta, picked up a Triumph Speed Four, and rode it back to Connecticut in a little over three days (with a stop in Birmingham for the AHRMA races at Barber). This is the kind of thing you can do when you work for a bike mag. Anyway, I’d decided to mostly avoid highways; to use guidebooks and maps and just wing it whenever possible. My first day saw me riding in a 200-mile circle, including one really freaky stretch on a crappy road along a ravine in the middle of absolutely nowhere with a low tank. That would be one of the scary moments. But I made it, and I rode long days on some incredible byways, discovering parts of the country I’d never seen before. By myself. I could stop and go whenever I wanted, and if somebody at a gas station mentioned a cool route I might want to check out, I was free to do it. At the end of each day, I aimed for the nearest big-looking town and found a motel. And I woke up each morning psyched to do it all over again.

As hokey as it sounds, that sense of freedom and discovery colors everything you see and do. I truly appreciated every little thing. And being alone made everything that much more meaningful. Like gazing at the mist rising over an empty pasture early in the morning. Going through a golden tunnel of trees glowing in the sun. Wondering whether a cow was about to stomp me. Changing suspension settings for the first time on my own. Riding alongside a ghostly train under a full moon, quiet and alone in my helmet.

I’ve got great photos, good stories and fond memories from that ride. But, best of all, I get to look back and think about what a trooper I used to be. Oh. Great. I already sound like my grandmother. You know what? I’m not giving in to responsibility. It’s high time for me to get lost again. JP

[By the way, if you’re looking for new roads and you’d like a little guidance, check out http://motorcycleroads.us. Some areas are more comprehensive than others, but it covers a good chunk of the country and it’s easy to use.]