That one road.

 I left Sacramento, after a wonderful two days visiting an old friend, hugs, warm company, and feeling sane again.  For the couple days before that I had been camping and hanging out by myself due to my usual family kerfluffel, and I was biting my time on the road.   And although I was headed into the foothills in the direction home that morning, I wanted to take all the time I could, cause home was not exactly where I wanted to go.  I knew that I needed to just get lost on whatever small roads I needed and wanted to explore.  In my usual fashion, I had looked at a map, and looked for places I'd never driven, roads I'd never explored, and that means, traveling into very unknown territory, just to see whats out there.  And even though I've been aware of these places and roads, they're long, slow, windy, and usually not on ones destination routes.  So, I set out to do that on this day.       
     The 16 shoots east out of Sacramento into the Sierra Nevada foothills.  It junctions at a mid point of the 49 highway.  Otherwise known as the Golden Chain Highway, that runs snakily north and south through the Sierra Nevada foothills all the way from the 70 north of Truckee, all the way down to Oakhurst and meets the 41 that takes you into the south entrance of Yosemite.  This Fall I had the honor to ride that the whole way, but today I had new roads to explore.  At the junction of the 16 and 49, there is an almost immediate turn off to a small old town called Amador.  Which is also what the county is was named after.  Now, all the times I'd ridden the 49 I'd never stopped in Amador.  I was like, "why the hell not.  I've got time to burn."  So I made that sudden last minute left into town.  Being as it's a small town with tight roads, I rolled creepily slow up and down all the main streets, peering at all the stores, getting a good feel for the town, flipping u-turns into well labeled dead end driveways.  I was hungry.  But I was looking for something specific.  Something quaint.  And maybe I was being a little too specific, but sometimes you just know what you want.  I sat in my truck on a back street for a sec, idling in the middle of merging streets, like an annoying tourist who doesn't know what they want or where they're going.  That's pretty fitting for me.  I spied an old sign with a rusty name "Pig Turd Alley." It ran along the opposing side of a stream separating it from the backside of the main street stores.  I could only imagine what it used to look like in the hay day of all this towns hustle and bustle.  Despite all the charm and intrigue of the historical town, I decided to keep going. Along I rolled to another small, yet more populous old town called Sutter Creek.  It boasts a longer boulevard, with brighter appeal, more eateries, boutiques, and easy access sidewalks.  Just what I was looking for.  My family came here a few years ago for a Mothers Day breakfast.  This place has a lot of charm, and is characteristically busy.  You bet I stopped.   I had a hankering for some deli sandwich, and I wanted to see what the town could muster for me.  I stopped in the visitor center on Main Street and asked a professional local what the best place to get a sandwich was.  A kind elder man pointed me to a cute small cafe on a corner just down a bit and across the street.  I thanked him for his time, and made an A line for that sandwich.  I had my pick of tables in the place.  So I sat in the right corner window, where I could oversee all the action on Main St.  While I worked through my Turkey on sourdough sandwich, I observed a dozen customers come and go over the course of what was probably an hour.  I was in no hurry.  Mostly had things to work out in my head.
        It was about 2pm when I rolled out of town.  I had someone on my ass, so I pulled over to let them by.  But I had also just seen a sign that said "Daffodil Hill" pointing to a road heading east into the hills.  I thought to myself, "I went there once, years ago with my family, and though I barely remember it, I wanted to see it again, for real, for myself, and check out the road on my own to get there.  And so I turned around and took that road, and off I was to find Daffodil Hill.  I was winding for a while, so much of a while, that I started to doubt the route I was on.  "Did I miss the signs?  Should I turn around?"  I cued up my navigation on my phone, sitting on my speedo dash.  My software doesn't work anymore, so I have to refresh it whenever I question my location.  Daffodil Hill was just up ahead.  It's 13 miles of slow winding remote country foothills, homes on properties sprinkled here and there.  And it's easy to feel like you've been driving forever in the wrong direction.  I was suddenly there.  It was dead of winter, so nothing was blooming, and the sun was in the western setting so the valley was dark, and it felt more like I was back in the dark coastal redwoods.  There would be no wandering the property today.  It was closed.  So where would I go now.  I cued up my map again.  I saw that Volcano was nearby, and in a southerly direction that I was willing to go.  And so I went.
         Volcano was another random small town that I remember being dragged years ago, with some friends.  Back when my friends thought it would be a good idea to live in the middle of nowhere California.  Well, that's Volcano.  Another small mining town, with a history of war and gold.  This time I parked on the side of the road at the stop sign, in front of an old cannon, and I walked around and checked out the buildings.  An old IOOF/Masonic building, an old jail.  An outdoor theater behind the remains of an old building front.  A park dedicated to the man who ran the mines.  The majestic looking INN on the corner, a small old bar that I will most definitely be back for, the main store through old tall doors, and a beautifully appealing bakery.  I bought a couple .50 cent cartons of SunnyD, and I was back on that road out of town, in my southerly direction, sipping on my first carton.  Just up ahead was the 88, otherwise known as Carson Pass, which takes you between Jackson and Tahoe roughly.  I took the split towards Pine Grove in the direction of the 88 towards Jackson, but when I got to the 88, I was like "you know, let's go see that road that takes me down into a place called West Point."  A sign along the 88 that I'd driven past so many times, and never gone.  I was curious.
        This was exciting.  I looked at my gas gauge, I was still practically full.  I'd have plenty of gas to last me no matter how long it would take me to get through these mountains, and at this point I had decided to shoot this back road all the way from the 88, into the backside of Murphy's.  Now what we locals know about these remote areas, is that they're full of the kinda back woods people that will shoot to kill, and live remotely for a reason.  Fortunately, that wasn't really on my mind today.  And I had enough knives within reach to carve a herd of Buffalo.  And when I'm feeling fearless, I'll go anywhere alone.  So onto West Point I went.  It was windy, and the road was steep in places, so I kept it in 3rd gear mostly, which seems a good gear for the speeds you maintain going around tight corners, long downhills, and suddenly steep uphills.  I came to a bridge that goes over a neat deep flowing river, that I imagine is packed in summer with sun bathers and partying locals.  And just as quickly as I was down in that ravine, I was climbing steeply up to the top of a ridge and into town.
      Now, West Point is a small, very interesting town, properties packed with old things strewn about, a small store, and a bar with no windows called "The Academy Club."  I turned around in front of a home with people in a drive way with lots of broken cars, trying not to make eye contact.  But I took it all in.  The frail asian woman walking out of the house toward her cat.  What looked like an old church that was now someones dwelling.  The guy at the top of town navigating the hoard of belongings on his property. Nothing had convinced me to move there.  I kept rolling.  Down the 26.  My turn off onto Railroad Flat was up ahead.  And that took me to an even smaller town that I'd never heard of called Wilseyville.   There was even less here it seemed.  Yet still there were inhabitants of these remote territories.  Just enough to keep the stores open, and the lights on.
       I rolled more quickly through Wilseyville, stopped in front of an old closed building, to read one of those "historic monument plaques" something dedicated to the mining settlers of the area, at the peak of it's operation, and how it dwindled to a few hundred inhabitants due to black fever.  I thought to myself "is that any relation to black plague?"  As I rolled away from the town, I admired an old wooden fence that marked off a beautiful carved meadow on the edge of a ridge of tall dense trees.  What a lovely property.  I dreamed of those acres being mine.  I was suddenly out of the edge of town, into the windy darkening woods.  The sunset was providing enough light in the sky that I didn't need my headlights yet.  And I could still admire the sparsely laid properties along the road.  I drove for a while.  Past some road workers that seemed to be taking a tally of the passing cars.  And though nothing seemed out of the ordinary, I suddenly got a feeling that I wasn't where I should have been. I started to doubt the direction of my travel, something told me to check the map.
         Then there I was, my blue dot hanging far off the route, and I could see that I was near what looked like a small lake.  "How the heck did I get off the main road?  That's impossible!"  I had that inkling, that I needed to turn around, and quickly.  You know that feeling.  A truck was behind me with its headlights on.   I turned down this one road, and turned around in front of a church camp driveway just off Schaad Rd.  I checked my route back to the main road, and this time I followed it closely for that turnoff.  There was some property being worked on looked like something big was going to happen there.  I was curious, but I was losing light and wanted to get back on Railroad Flat.  When I found my turn off, I was like, "Well, no wonder I missed it, it dashes down suddenly and to the right.  I'm sure lots of people miss that turn."  I read the sign of the road I was lost on, "Blue Mountain Rd."    (unbeknownst to me this will all soon become relevant)
        Railroad Flat took me to the town Railroad Flat, and along that long remote windy road, I passed lots of dreamily eery properties.  Questionably abandoned cars on deep lots.  Moldy boarded up sheds.  The whole lot.  I crept by them all.  Investigating their purpose, and decay.  I came upon properties where people were putting trailers on vacant lots, felled trees, lumbered logs, and lots of off grid living.  Soon I was onto Sheep Ranch Road.  The terrain was getting steeper and more canyonesque as the topography of hte landscape closes in on Murphy's.  The road was more of a one lane that you have to occasionally share with a speeding oncoming local.  And so we shared.  And I crept in and out of tight turns and canyons.  The road got really rough in places, and I could hear all my truck bolts trying to shake lose.  I was finally at Murphy's.  This is where the road gets familiar.
      Not wanting to go home...still....I decided to head up the hill to my buddy Johnny and Allie's house.  Once there, I told them about my holiday with my family, the conflicts, the not wanting to go home, the needed space, and then about my travels that day.   Johnny goes, "You went through Wilseyville?"  The usual "You shouldn't go driving around out there alone without a firearm..." all that same stuff we all know.  The usual warnings.   And then he brought up the story....of..."Charles Ng and Leonard Lake."   I was like "What????"  Allie was like "yeah, it's crazy creepy shit."  and I was like "how come I never heard of this shit?"  We were all drinking.  
       That night I'd discover that Wilseyville was the notorious location for the serial killings that happened at the hands of two evil men, the years surrounding 1985.  And so Allie started looking up the location of the supposed property where they did their killings.  Turns out that it all happened at a property on the corner of Blue Mountain and Schaad Rd.  That very place where I first had that notion that I was on the wrong road.  I was like "Holy Crap!  I was right there!  Something drew me down that road today.  I was meant to go there.  And I was meant for you guys to tell me about it today."  Needless to say it was a trip to find out about.  I also thought about how many of those murdered could have been lost unfortunate travelers who ended up in their back roads snare, easily mistaken for a main road, asking for directions.  And all the reason to never go anywhere without means of self defense.
        Johnny was a little freaked out about how me and Allie kept talking about it, enthralled.   But he had some good points, he said he believes in if you seek things, you'll find things.  Which is a good thing to remember.  But none of those people who were ensnared in their web of murder were looking for those things, they were just unaware of the evils that lurked behind neighborly eyes, and the sick psychological depths of serial murderer minds.  So to this, I say, always be prepared, and if you're prepared you should never be scared.  Because fear prevents you from going wherever your freedom wants you and tells you to go.  So I say, "go on all roads and travels, and be prepared, never scared."
       Some things are calling you.  Some things still need to be discovered.  Some roads are worth traveling no matter how shady and dangerous they seem.  The world is yours.  Travel your freedom.

See you on the Road, and Happy New Year.

J.W.

2 Months of Meandering and Home Sweet Home. HWY 49.

Last week I met my family on the northern coast of California, hiking around trails, grazing beaches for special stones, and seeing an occasional friend, when our schedules coincided.  But mostly I was a vegetable, cozy in the rental, with a view of the entire California coast, assembling 3D metal model puzzles and drinking wine.  However, my last day I spent hiking beaches and bluffs with my friend Sara, and her friends; dinner at Tomo, my favorite Sushi restaurant in Arcata; bowling in Eureka then running to a concert back in Arcata; browsing the college bars, then back to Eureka for an after-partying.  So, at a 5am bedtime, hitting the road at 10am, to ride from Eureka to Truckee, CA that next morning, was my kinda challenge.  I'd never been to Truckee, and I had been trying to get up to visit some friends who moved there, for some time now.

Holy cow was Truckee a cute town to roll into at an early evening hour, bustling with restaurant goers, folks who looked like they'd spend their days hiking, mountain biking, fishing, kayaking, and looking high mountain adventurous.  Folks were sitting around patio fires sipping beers, faces aglow with boozy smiles.   When I got to my friends home and parked my bike, we all shot promptly out to town so that I could take in the experience.  Dinner, Breakfast, a day fishing at the lake, lounging, jamming the guitars, and watching E.T. all the way through for the first time, that was my awesome Truckee experience.  Thanks Jeremy and Emily!

Today is Sunday, October 9: the day I complete my 2 months on the road meandering across my Northern States Crossing, from my old apartment in Brooklyn, NY to Sonora, CA.  But before I left Truckee for Sonora,  I decided to ride the entire 49 highway from Vinton, CA to Sonora.  I had ridden the 49 from Oakhurst to Placerville, a dozen times, but had never done the 49 past Placerville, where I usually just jumped on the 50 coming to and from Tahoe or Sacramento on various different trips.  So this was a real treat finally finding myself in Truckee visiting friends, and only 50 or so miles from the top of the 49.  So this morning I rode north up the 89 and took a cut through at Calpine, that wraps around the western edge of a high sierra valley ranch land basin.  It was a short jaunt to the top of the basin where I met the 70 and rode east, and another few miles I arrived at Vinton, CA where I met the 49 and with a quick right turn, I was on my official decent south.  I had lunch in Sierraville and jammed some conversation and philosophy with some new found acquaintances.  Turns out one fella was from Sonora, one gal was on a life journey of solo travel and career adventures, and the woman who worked the cafe owns a shovel head and an iron head, loves to ride and wrench.  I'm super glad I stopped and took my time to visit with the locals in that little town.  It was quickly 1:30 and I had an entire 49 highway to ride.  So, after filling up at the quaint gas stop in town, I was back on my golden chain trail.

An approaching motorcyclist tapped the top of his helmet signaling me to some law enforcement up ahead, which I decided to approach the next few miles with caution, and not like speeding was an option, because all the approaching corners were prefaced with a sign that warned all motorcycles of the extremely treacherously tight curves for the next 15 miles.  And for good reason.  And no joke on those corners.  There was no racing anywhere.  I took my time up and through that mountain range, down along that flowing river, imagining all the old miners claims that used to pack these riverbanks and small towns.  I took footage rolling through cute towns such as Sierra City, and Downeyville.  Quaint historic 1800's buildings still living and breathing with commerce, and tourism.

I made it all the way to Auburn without scraping my pipes or kickstand on any of those mountain curves, but when I got to Auburn and tried jamming around those very first turns heading south, oh, man, there it was, scraaaape, scraaape, screeech, hahaha.  I had to take it down a notch cause that tight old road way was really giving me a run for the metal on my bike.  Soon as I stopped scraping through corners, I was on a bridge over some gorgeous swimming holes.  I can't wait to head back and take some nice refreshing dips in those pools.  The rest of the 49 gets pretty normal to me from there.  The smooth sweeping familiar curves were in front of me, and I could really make the rest of the 50 or so miles home in good time.

Well, I was home just after the last light was in the dusk sky, and the final mileage on my bike read "81,639 Miles."  When I left Brooklyn, my miles read about 74,800.  That means I put on a good 6,800 miles or so.  I am just now relaxing on the couch, and thinking about my new trek an opportunity to wrench on bikes again.  So here we go.  Adventure bound.  Thanks for reading along as I was able to write my adventures and bring them to you.

See you on the road!

There it is.

The Northern States Crossing was a success.  I rode through a bunch of new states: Michigan, Wisconsin, Iowa, South Dakota, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana.  Made it to my Ghost Town in Montana. Fished across the country in the different states.  Camped, lodged, and wung it on my exploration, whilst staying on back roads and cruising through the small towns that make up the fabric of The United States of America.  Went from hot humid east coast days, to windy frozen mountaintops.  I saw interesting places and met interesting characters, in places that nobody sees or visits anymore, because highways drag everyone on direct routes, more expediently.  But the best roads are the two lane roads, that you can stare down forever, or wind through mountain crags, or disappear into miles of winding corn fields in the middle of farmland America, then come out through miles of lava flow.  But the best times are always the memories that stick with me the most.  Like the mama Buffalo charging me, on that scenic loop through South Dakota.  Or the surprise discovery of a grand canyon of desert shelves and cliffs falling into massive lakes, through eastern Washington.  Getting wasted in a small town, and not remembering serenading everyone, whist rolling around with my guitar on a kitchen floor.  Hanging out on the banks of Lake Eerie fishing with my buddy Pat.  Hanging out in Cleveland, making a door sign, and having guitar jam sessions on a porch overlooking abandoned buildings.  Camping behind a sign on the edge of Devils Tombstone.  Having a hawk fly right next to me.  Paragliding from the mountain tops of a ski resort in Idaho.  And so many more memories to come, and be made with friends.  

I recently had relatives move to the pacific north west, and so I was excited to see their new plots of land and locations.  Cousin Kyle lives in the panhandle of Idaho, and cousin Rian lives just on the outskirts of Seattle.  I took a slow country road from Kyle's to Rian's on the Scenic 2, which goes from Sandpoint, Idaho, all the way out towards Seattle.  I did however jump down to a highway for about 50 miles, because the roads going either way were nowhere near my destination at the hour of night I was pushing. While hanging with my family, I hiked around and got a tour of Kyles large wild acreage of land, went mountain biking with cousin Rian, and I hiked Snoqualamie Falls with my Aunt Kathy.  Got to make puzzles with my cousins, and see the cool things that the young'ns are painting, or creating, or making videos of.  And Rian was such a sweetie and took me and grabbed me from the airport when I flew to SF for Sam and Seth's very fun filled wedding weekend. So yesterday I was back on the road on a new leg of my cross country trip, this time dropping down the west coast. I decided to use the day to explore and ride through Mount Rainier National Park. Another place that my park pass paid for itself. What a beautiful park, such nice people hiking around, I had lunch at Longmire Lodge, visited the Longmire Museum and picked up a fuzzy little road buddy. My new road pet, a fuzzy squirrel puppet. 

So now I'm on the backroads heading south, and covering my old territory the west coast.  Dropping down from Seattle, to Portland, to Arcata, and seeing lots of folks and places in between and along the way.  In the meantime, in the event of making more road memories, and looking forward to seeing new things, here's to hunting down small towns and staying on those backroads.

See you on the Road. 

Thanks for reading!

Dirt Roads over Mountain Passes, Don't mind if I do.

My buddy Mike texted me about the rain that was hitting Ketchum.  Thanks to my non-stop plodding on, I was already a few hours down the road, and that incoming storm was far behind me. Nonetheless, the weather today was steadily cold.  Cold in the valleys and really cold on the tops of those mountains.  The route that was cut out for me on the map, took me on 30 miles of rugged rocky road cut through this mountain pass between Sun Valley and the 93 scenic Idaho byway.  It was slow going and I got a few small spits of rain, but nothing actually really fell to consider it raining.  It was more like rain mist from a cloud that was trying to catch me.  I was staying just in front of that incoming storm.

The sky was a kaleidoscope of grey clouds, and there was the tiniest patch of blue sky trying to peek through the monotony, steadily about 50 miles in front of me, which I just kept riding towards, but never actually caught.  At one point on the ride through that pass, I had to do my business, and I remembered the locals talking about how the bears were out this time of year, gearing up for the winter, and I thought this might be my opportunity to spot a bear, lingering about one of those high mountain streams, or popping out from a bundle of bushes, preferably while I was not indisposed. Unfortunately, the only wildlife I saw on that crossing, was a cow that I played chicken with in the middle of the road.  And a bouquet of pheasants meandering a little further down.  You never saw pheasants scatter faster.

By the time I got to civilization, I hadn't had a thing to eat all morning, and I was jonsing for some breakfast.  So, I stopped at a small wooden cafe in the first town I came to called Challis.  I warmed up with a few cups of piping hot coffee, and my go-to on a day like this: a bowl of chili.  On the road, and over those passes, I kept warming up my hands on the cylinders.  That's pretty much protocol when the finger tips start aching and feeling like pins and needles in the wind chill.  Sometimes you don't have enough time for them to fully feel warm enough before grabbing the throttle again, so getting to just grip that hot cup of coffee for as long as I wanted felt soooo nice.   I chilled there for a nice while until my core and extremities were feeling normal again, and then it was back to the road.

So there I am riding on the 93 that winds up along the Salmon river.  Gorgeous doesn't even begin to describe it.  It's really something to behold.  It's part of the Lewis and Clark trail, and there are little homages to moments in the valleys history along the route.  Both deteriorating and remarkably well preserved cabins tell the tale of settlers who at one point sought refuge and homesteaded along the river.  It's remarkable.   I spied 3 big horned sheep, nestling in the corner grasses on a bank, where a herd of cattle were splattered about, grazing.

Finally, the day wears to a point when you know that the longer you ride, the darker and colder it gets, and that you're gonna pay the same amount for cheap accommodations here, or however many miles further down the road you try to push on.  So why not get in a little early, and enjoy the first cozy town that you can land a sweet warm settlement.  And in my case, sleeping in doors was my only option in this weather.  Well, as soon as I rolled into Darby, Montana, I knew that this was the town.  I have a few hundred miles to put in till tomorrow nights destination, so I wasn't really trying to add that to today.  Right now, I was gonna get my moneys worth out of some local lodging.  Turns out I was lucky with a cozy cabin, this time with heat, and a kitchen.  I offloaded the bike, and took a spin back into town, where I found a badass restaurant that specialized in Pizza; just what I had been craving.  I grabbed some water, and a soda on the way back to my cabin.  And I took a nice long soak under that hot shower.  Now, I'm chilling to Tom Petty on the YouTube, while some cheezy television is on in the background, and I'm jotting down my thoughts for the day while sipping a Jack and Coke.  I'm stoked.

See you on the Road.

Ketching-Up in Ketchum.

It wasn’t just any small mountain town with old money and $2500 season lift ticket prices.  It was the small mountain town where Ernest Hemingway wrote his famous “For Whom The Bell Tolls.”  In fact, I may just be sitting in the very motel where he first started writing it.  This motel due to its relative history to Hemingway has since been spared tearing down, in lieu of a larger and more income producing multiplex of apartments.  Thank gawd some folks still have sentimental appreciation for American and significant histories.  Hemingway evidently wrote a slew of stories here in this little town, which has spawned its modern day Hemingway Festival, which draws writers and literature enthusiasts from all around the globe to participate in its “writer things,”  (yes that’s the technical term.)  But yes Ketchum, Idaho, the home to Sun Valley: a very historic ski resort town.  Boasting top of the line lift boxes, a gorgeous historic lodge at the very top built between 1936-1939, and sky high lift prices, and year round entertainment, this place can draw the cream de la crem.  It’s also a great way to maintain the warm rich charm that its history, and its old money have grown to preserve.  

I’m here by the graces of the good road, visiting my long time best bud, Mike.  He is the head lift Mechanic at Sun Valley, here in Ketchum, Idaho.  Yesterday evening I rolled into town after spending the day exploring caves at “Crater on the Moon” National Park.  I pulled up to his motel complex and promptly off-roaded up and down all the banks until he popped out of one of the dwellings.  I unloaded my bike, and we went to a quaint little Irish pub.  I ordered a Guinness, he ordered a Sprite and the dinner was quite the delight.  Can I just say, I haven’t drinken Guinness since 2002.  After dinner Mike drove us up to the Ski lift and we got to ride the awesome enclosed chair-lift up the mountain, getting a gorgeous view of the night lights in the Valley towns, all the way out as far as little towns were illuminated.   I got to meet and visit with some of Mikes co-workers, who were operating the mountain for an evening gala.  I got a tour of the historic lodge and we were given free range of the deserts that were left over from the catered event.   It was so rad! I'd say my introduction to Ketchum is off to a great start.  Thanks Mike!   

Anyway, It’s neat getting to live and breath in an historic place.  It helps you appreciate, as well as enlighten you to things that you otherwise were unaware.  For myself, I never studied literature, so I didn’t get a good exposure to a lot of ancient poets or writers like Ernest Hemingway.  I’ve heard the title “For Whom The Bell Tolls” but never read it.  I guess you now know whats on my “to read” list. 

Ketchum, Idaho: This little valley is steeped in outdoor activities which I can’t wait to delve into over the course of the next few days here.  Hot springs, that are actually hot, unlike the luke warm ones in Hot Springs, South Dakota, where everyone kept saying “Hey these are kinda cold.”  Fly fishing is on the agenda, since I’ve been drooling all over the picturesque streams, riding all these northern states.  

I’m gonna also do some bike maintenance that I’ve been meaning to get to.  Primary adjustment/change, and oil and filter change.  My tires are showing their age on this trip.  I started with a bit more tread than I have now.  But I think I’ve got another 2000 miles left in em.  Low and Slow, that’s how I go. 

It’s just great to hang out with Mike.  And it was great just getting to be our old selves.  Here’s to reunions, and feeling at home in the company of old friends. 

If anyone wants to find me this afternoon, I'll be Paragliding from the top of the mountain.  Otherwise, I'll see you on the road.

~J.W Dirty and Free. 

Beartooth Highway, Yellowstone, Tetons

The freezing Glacial winds were whipping up the left side and the right side and across the top, threatening to knock me over its edges at any moment.  But I just kept counterbalancing against its attempts along those narrow and no guard-railed lanes, getting a little close to the edges many times. Swearing was an occasional friend of mine.  Beartooth Highway.  

I just can't believe that I ended up miraculously in a little town called Red Lodge, one evening by complete chance, just looking for a close place to camp.  And that the next morning I would find out it was the base and beginning of the Beartooth Highway.  This is a notorious highway evidently and I was a fortunate recipient and experiencee of its wild and wooly pathways.  And of course I underestimated the time it would take to complete it.  It started out fine and normal, climbing slowly up along a beautiful accompanying river and into a mountain valley, steadily getting higher with more picturesque views.  The next thing you know, the winds start picking up.  Then the switchbacks become more and frequent and tighter.   I'd ridden lots of tight roads, but complied with these winds, it became a whole new wonderful experience.  When I reached the top of the mountain, it was blowing hard across the top, and I found a patch of gravel to pull over, and access my leather jacket.  Folks had been taking pictures of the view and then getting comfortably in their cages and warmly and safely rolling away.  I did not have that luxury, nor to leave my bike kick-standed for too long, cause the winds would probably just take it right off of that.  I pulled my signature relief move, off the edge of my bike, in the presence of a few tourists, and I got back on the road.  Boy was that wind trying.  Overall  the switchbacks were great, watching for gravel and riding those carefully in the blown out corners.  There were a few gnarly spots.
 
 I finally get to this place called Top of the World.  A small log cabin with one old pump.  Inside it's full of fun stuff like mountain things, furs, sticks, weapons, patches and bumper stickers that say things like "I survived the Beartooth Highway." Yes, I bought that one.  I picked up a chocolate bar to give me back the carbs and calories I just burned.  And I entertained the staff with some songs that were running through my head at the time.  Although I wanted to take more time there, I knew I couldn't.  There were dark clouds building over these mountains and all I wanted was to get through and out from under them.  They looked like dumping clouds, and the last thing I wanted was that coupled with cold mountain air.

I was still 25 mountain miles from Yellowstone.  So I raced on.

I got gas in a cute town where bikers and other folks taking their time to enjoy things were shopping and eating in more log cabinesque dwellings.  But those dark clouds made me keep saying "just keep pushing on, you can always stop and set up shelter if it gets too bad."  Well as soon as I was on the road the drops came.  I always want to see how long they last.  Mostly just a little patch of cloud and you can roll through in seconds.  You dry quickly on the road anyhow.   I kept riding.

I flashed my Park Pass to the woman at the Yellowstone gate, and got my maps.  opened them up to the roads I'd be following and placed them on my "dash board,"  a little place under my handlebar bungee cords and back-up/old bubble shield.  It's a great design.

I was counting miles and constantly averaging arrival times with the pace of the tourism traffic.  The stop and go, let alone the slow looky-loo traffic.  It was fine, and I would have been them, had I not been trying to beat a brewing storm.  I made good use of those passing lanes as much as possible.  I was still able to take photos and video of the beautiful scenery, rivers, and wildlife from my motorcycle, as I was riding.  Photos don't do real life any justice anyway, and I try to take it in for myself as much as possible.  Yellowstone is really amazing.  I saw tons of folks fly-fishing gorgeous wide streams along the roadway.  I hear it's big for Cutthroat Trout.  I miss fly-fishing.

Somewhere in Yellowstone among the folks stopping to take photos at everything and cars clamoring for parking spots where there were none, I started to get sleet.  You know messy snow.  I jammed around any holdups.  I just kept saying "ain't nobody got time for this."  Thats my go to line, when I gotta just do my thing.  I finally got through those Yellowstone roads, and they opened up, and dropped down into a valley, and I was suddenly under sunny skies again.  I could relax.  I had no idea what the Tetons would be like, and I kept looking off into the distance going, are those the dark clouds I'm going under?  I'd just have to wait and see.  I stopped twice for gas, souvenirs, and talked with fun and engaging folks.

Then I was out of Yellowstone, and rolling through the Tetons.  Well not the way I thought it was gonna go, like riding through and over the mountains.  Instead the road takes you around the Tetons, from which you can see it's massive features, and smoldering hillsides.  It had been under fire recently and a lot of the forest was burned badly.  I got some footage as I rolled through its blackened aftermath.  Traffic was much smoother through Yellowstone.  Even though it did break suddenly for what appeared to be a young Moose at the roadside edge trying to jaywalk, the cute lil bugger.   I took the scenic forest backroad, following more folks looking to spot Moose along this route.  And I did get to see a cute little Moose butt, disappear into a thick of trees.  I just wanted to see more Moosies. I got to Katies cabin with plenty of light still in the sky, or at least the sun was trying to set behind the Tetons, but still definitely up.  She's a family friend from the home town and works at the Tetons.  We visited for a bit at the cabin and then made a run for some eyedrops and a beer at a nearby watering hole.  One and done, we headed back to the cabin and visited some more before sleep was calling us all.  I even took a shower.  The heat felt nice after a day of freezing through mountain passes.  And all the locals didn't think I'd make it to Jackson. Hahaha  Made it!

See you on the Road!

~J.W.

Devils Tower and Battle at Little Bighorn! 2016

Ok so today I was officially back to my solo DirtyFree2016 U.S. adventures.  After an awesome day of riding to Devils Tower and getting to camp at it's campground, I was off early to make it out to the infamous Battle at Little Bighorn, up in Montana.  I stopped at a rad roadside biker dive for a post breakfast beer, where I tried a lager that is made locally.  The bar was dark, dingy, and filled with ancient artifacts affixed to the ceiling.  The older woman running the place was tattooed like a leopard, and I was immediately in love.  Said she was from Huntington Beach originally.  I sat for a spell and chatted her and the cook.  Had the place to myself.  Then I was back on the road to the battlefield.  I'm a sucker for Indian Trading posts, so I pretty much stopped at anything with a Teepee and some furs in front of it.  Then before I knew it, after a quick pee down a dirt road in the forest, I was finally at Battle at Little Bighorn.  My nifty National Park Pass got me in.  I love this thing.  Spent a few hours there doing the 5 mile battle tour ride, exploring the museum, and hiking up the hill and around the monuments.  What an amazing piece of history.   I left with about 2 hours o daylight to ride, but that sun always goes down sooner than one expects, so it got darker, and the weather got colder, with much more crisp content to the air.  I rode till it was way to cold to not be wearing a leather jacket.  I was waving my arms around for blood flow.   But before any leather would go on, I would find myself at a campground in a mountain town in southern Montana, just outside Yellowstone, which would explain the sudden drop in temperature and loss of feeling in my finger tips.  I had nothing but help in this charming little town.  When I rolled up to get a tent camping spot, the hosts were like "you're kidding right?  In this cold weather?"  I said "you got anything better in mind?" The lady said "yeah, how bout a cabin?"  I said "how much?"  She said "30$"  and I said "sold."  Evidently anyone tenting in these parts freezes to death lately, so the fact that they offered me a cabin for 5$ more than what a tent camping site was gonna cost me, I feel like I just won the lottery. Haha   And  Maybe that's my mojo for saving the life of a 5 legged spider this morning.  It was a great day.



And keeping with the fun devils themed trip, the address of the campground just happened to be "6664" hahaha.

See you on the road!

I Love South Dakota!

Today was my favorite! Woke up in Keystone, after getting whiskey bent last night at the Red Garter Saloon. Mt. Rushmore was rad yesterday. Surreal seeing it after all these years of life. And the last couple days I've been just soaking up all the scenery and rides and experiences and haven't been posting updates, but here I am. Just finished rolling all over the Custer and Black Hills National and State parks scenic rides, like Spearfish Canyon, and Deadwood, getting to minigolf! Here in South Dakota. I got to do a fair amount of fishing, as I had set out to do. You know at least cast a line in a few gorgeous lakes using a really scary lure. But today right after riding through the gorgeous Needles highway, we jumped onto the Wildlife Scenic Loop through lower Custer state park, and that's where ALL the BUFFALO were. Right up close an personal. So personal that a mama buffalo decided to charge me. And I got to do some epic off-roading to avert her fury. I launched off the roadway into the adjoining field where all the buffalo were grazing. And I rode through an turned around on a gravel road and them headed back to the road. That mama buffalo was still there and there I was facing her. And I knew she'd charge again if I rode by her, so I gestured for a van to roll by and I'd roll around them so that mama buffalo wouldn't see me roll by. But she saw me scurry around and come out from behind it, and she made one last little lunge and I pretty much was just riding and weaving through all the stopped traffic and the thick of the herd surrounding the road. That was so much FUN!!!! Favorite experience so far. And the scenery, the bare rolling hills and sparsely laid forests, the babbling brooks rolling through open fields of grazing buffalo, and single lane bridges. Gorgeous. Just gorgeous.

Needles Hwy, Custer State Park, South Dakota.

I'm noticing this slumbering buffalo in the grass ahead of me,
while using natures restroom. 

All the BUFFALO.  All of em. 

Devils Tombstone

Camping at Devils Tombstone was a success.  I rolled in a little after 10 pm and families were already nestled into their campsites. Scattered glows of campfires beneath the dense forest canopy.  I decide to park my bike behind a large sign on the edge of the entrance parking lot, so that my bike isn't easily seen.  I first get my camo tarp draped, so I can conceal my headlamp while I get the tent tied to my bike.  I crawl inside the tent and try to close my eyes, but I can hear the strolling voices of some Irish tourists. Or at least I like to assume they are.  I'm set up between the sign and a park bench, other benches are scattered about 100 feet from one another on a large picnic area.  Some late night campers gather at one of the neighboring tables to discuss how their sons look just like them, how easily it would be for them to go down the wrong path at any moment in their youth, how much that scares them, and to smoke heavily on some weed which the fathers are passing amongst themselves.  I find the whole thing very endearing.  One of them says "is that a motorcycle over there?" My front tire pokes out from the front of my tarp.  I'm ready to shank anyone who approaches my tent.  They realize someone is probably sleeping g under that mess of tarp, and they ease up on their flashlights and conversation to make their way back to their accommodations.  I again try to shut my eyes.  The sounds of buzzing and cricketing and chirping things roars all night in this Catskills land.  I wake up at 2am to what I think might be a growling animal a ways off.  I imagine a yogi bear coming to scrounge for picnic scraps, hoping it doesn't smell nor desire my richly odorous "Parmigiano Reggiano" naturally imported from Italy. I think the store was trying to move it off the shelves because it was so cheap.  Got to love those markdowns.  My 5am alarm was too early so I reset t for 6 and then consecutively 7, and that's when the Asian tourists rolled up, and I finally succumbed to the warming of the morning and a committal to rolling up my camp.  I whisked off a couple friendly little 8 legged wayward hitchikers from the motorcycle, and I utilized my picnic bench for breakfast. Devils Tombstone was a success.

DirtyFree 2016: Road Trip

Ive been in NYC for two weeks, namely enjoying my "visitor" status, and wrapping up, or at least trying to wrap up some loose ends.  Don't you just love loose ends?  Stuffing keepsakes into a large green Seabag to mail home, and whether or not to mail home a game of Settlers of Catan, or bring it with me on the road.  Life's pending questions.

       It's sunny and hot as hell back in California right now, and the east coast has been some rain, mostly nice, and now the humidity and thunderstorms are upon me.  I had this whole week cut out to take off, and I'm fairly ready with everything, but dealing with utilities that are in my name, and a good day to cut out between the days of eastern seaboard thunderstorm.  See I'm headed right along the route of traveling storm, from Brooklyn to Boston.  Thats how the clouds like to flow.  That's my first leg.  I'll be camping at Provincetown, MA before I get to Boston, cause I wanna cozy up with the folks who live where the Pilgrims landed.  And I hear they know how to "get down."  The drinks will flow.

In the meantime, I'm sitting on the couch, next to two pairs of fresh underwear and socks that I just folded, and they're about to get stuffed into my gear.  I was able to compile a simple set of minimalist gear for this trip, granted I don't have too many 0 degree nights, I'm mainly layering small for compactness.  Here's what my items consist of:
*Hammock
*Mosquito Net
*Tarp
*Spring sleeping bag 50deg
*Waterproof bivy sack, compact & light.
*Tent:  (I tailored a tent to make it much smaller.)
*Cowboy Duster coat, full-length, freshly waxed
*Guitar: I go everywhere with my Martin Mini.  I sewed extra pockets on to it for all my nicknacks.
*Stove: the size of a mug.
*Tools: fits into pouch top of my forks.
*Oil filter, and Primary oil (the good stuff).
*anything else I can stuff into cracks and crevices, probably more tools.

And that's about it!  My rig is fairly light and I love that.  Because the less I feel I have to lift with my left leg, the better.  Lucky for me, the two days I rode around on the bike, the leg rode great, and actually liked its riding position.

Two weeks ago I did a maiden voyage, 3 months from my Knee busting, and finally reunited with my bike.  I leisurely rode down to Rockaway Island, and did the whole little spit from Fort Tilden and Rockaway Point, down along Atlantic Beach, Long Beach and out to Jones Beach.  That's when the rains finally caught up to me.  I had been doing a good job of staying in front of them and under the bluish sky, but it was finally as far as I was gonna go that day.  I had a nice slow trafficy ride back to Brooklyn in the steady rain.  There was a good amount of splitting lanes cause that shit can get pretty ridiculous at times.  But I got home, and I felt great that my leg performed nicely, maybe an ache here and there, but over all, I felt ready to get this puppy on that long adventure to the west coast, via the Northern States.  I've been stoked about doing this for a long time.  I'll write periodically from the road.  But in the meantime, that's my digs, and I hope to see and hang with great peeps all across my route.

See you on the Road.

J.W. Dirty and Free.

Hahaha Birthday.

         I just had a Birthday on the 19th.  Unlike every uneventful birthday before, I was bound and determined to make this feel like a real event filled birthday.  You know, a real birthday, where you invite all your elementary school friends to the pizza parlor and sit there by yourself, while nobody shows up.  Well, instead of risking that sort of an evening, being as I have practically zero contact with anybody these days, due to hermit/loner/nomad status, I just was gonna wing into some solo activities.   Nothing says "nobody can screw this up" like some activities all by yourself.  
         So there I was rolling into Tuesday morning, ramped up, excited, it was my birthday, and I was gonna do everything I wanted to, given a knee injury that at the moment has me limited to a few ranges of activities.  First things first.  I woke up, went down stairs and spied by guitars sitting against my amp.  So what did I do?  Of course I played the most rocking version of Happy Birthday to Me!!! I was a most excellent song.  I wish you could have been there.  Then, since I didn't get to partake in weekend movie release activities, I decided to save it for my Birthday.  And low and behold there I was seeing Ghostbusters 3D at 1pm.  My mom didn't really want to go, so I was able to talk someone out of doing house chores to go to the movies with me.  I got a hotdog, and popcorn, and a giant soda. And then it was like every trip to a movie theater for me, where I end up screaming and swearing and laughing aloud at all the action.  And holy crap 3D was excellent.  I really enjoyed that movie.  That went for a good long time and I didn't get home until about 4 something.  This was time to ice and elevate my knee, and respond to birthday messages on the dreaded FB.
         For an early dinner Me, Mom and Dad all went to this new BBQ joint for dinner.  I ordered a giant serving of Beef Brisket, take notes, which is my favorite food in the entire world, cause it is so damn good.  Then right after we cleaned our trays, we rolled on up the hill to Twain Harte Mini Golf, where we putted the entire course, of course.   That was tons of fun.  Because if you didn't know I love Mini Golf!  And naturally I got a sweet 'Twain Harte Miniature Golf' hat to commemorate my birthday experience.  Then we headed down the hill to wrap up the day with some classic Baskin Robbins 31 flavors.  I went out on a limb and instead of getting my Daiquiri Ice, I got Mint Chip.  

Part 5: It wasn't until about 1am, that I ran to the bathroom to, well, guess what, Food poisoning, and all the little joys that go with that.   The next morning, I'd verified with everyone who'd eaten at the BBQ place how they were feeling the next day.  Everyone ate all the same stuff, and felt fine.  So then, I was like "I had that hotdog for lunch at the Theater."  My body was all achy and I had chills, a slight fever, and I hadn't eaten or barely drinken a thing all day.  In fact I basically tried to just sleep it off, and good thing my mom was there, cause moms make the best nurses, fact.   Thursday was a total "lets try easy foods, and get rehydrated." That proved to be the trick.  Because I was feeling fine by the evening, and I had a bean burrito for dinner.  Friday morning is where I am right now, packing for NYC and sharing this so I'm not holding onto it.  

Now, I usually like to have what I call a "Birthday week," but not in the sense that I spend most of it recovering from food poisoning.  So there you have it.  My hilarious birthday.  I found it to be hilarious at least.  Come on you can all laugh with me, cause I sure am.  Good thing too, cause was not looking forward to rescheduling this flight.   And photos are always the hardest thing for me to upload, since I rarely have my phone and computer synched.  So here ya have my classic "photos coming later."

Alright y'all, have fun, and don't eat the hotdogs at the theater. hahaha

See ya on the Road.  p.s.  Let's hope my leg holds up for a cross country trip.  That just reminded me to wear my leg brace for the trip.

New Updates to the Look of My site DirtyFree.Etsy.com

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This is the link to my Etsy page:  DirtyFree.Etsy.com  Dirty Birds and Free Birds Welcomed.

The Statistics of Going Home. DUI's are NO FUN for anyone.

It seems like every time I return home, someone else is getting a DUI.  This is one of the most sobering places, due to it's high DUI stats, and cop laden streets.  Everyone I know has a DUI.  I made it a point to never become one of the statistics.  

This time It wasn't just someone new getting a DUI, it was a friend who got a DUI the last time I was home.  It had been almost exactly a year since their last DUI.  So what is it about me coming home, and someone getting a DUI?  It must be that good luck 'charm'.  I just bring the best out of folks. hahahahahahaha

Well, Now my friend has 2 DUI's, and that means they can't drive, the fines this time are going to be heinous, this is probably a Felony.  But upon further research I'll discover that it's still just a Misdemeanor.  I hope the DA goes easy on her.  Let's look into the repercussions of driving intoxicated.  Limited to 1st and 2nd offenses. 

1. First DUI offense in California is a Misdemeanor.  

Fines:  Minimum fine $390 - Max fine $1000.  
And additional charges (you know how they do) for a total of $1800 base, to over $2600+.

Jail Time: 48 hours up to 6 months.  

License suspension and loss: 90 days - 6 Months (limited to and from home and work).  
For a B.A.C. over .15% this increases to 10 months. 

Vehicle Impound: Max 30 days, your expense. 

Interlock Breathing Device:  $800  (If you don't blow clean you can't start your car.  You also have to continue to breathe clean while the car is in operation.)

Programs and fees: $500 you pay to attend a 3 Month Alcohol Treatment Program.
This fee goes up and time increases to 9 Months for B.A.C over .20% and up.
(Completing the alcohol prevention program in a timely manner can reduce the initial 90 day driving suspension to 30 days.  Also reduces the restricted driving allowance to 5-8 months vs. 6-10 months).

2. Second DUI Offense. 

Fines plus Penalty:  Minimum $1800, to max $3000. 

Jail: 10 days, or 96 hours (with two 48 hour sessions), Maximum 1 year jail.   
(Think of it like going to the gym, but they also feed you and give you a place to nap between sets and self-deprivation.)

License Suspension:  2 very long DMV years at a maximum. 
(who needs to drive when you're in jail?)

Vehicle Impound: 30 days expense to you. 

Interlock Breathing Device:  Installed on ALLLL your vehicles.  (Probably even your bicycle.)

Program: 18-30+ month 2nd Offender Alcohol Treatment Program, (which will cost you more than $1800). Bonus:  Enrolling in the program drops your 2 year suspension to 1 year. 

I'm just going to leave that right there.  I've paraphrased the information in a nice list for you, by subject.  The link to the website source is right there in the titles.  

Now here's what I always tell people:  "Plan ahead.  If you're going to have any alcohol hit your lips, you better either have a sober driver lined up (aka. Cab, That sober friend who doesn't drink because they've already had too many DUIs, etc...), or bring a sleeping back with you to the party.  That definitely tells the folks you're getting drunk and crashing out somewhere on the premises, without even having to say a word.  Guarantee they'll say something like, "the couch is all yours."  
But please just do yourself, and your friends and your loved ones a favor, and don't imposition them with your DUI's and otherwise reckless behavior, because we all know that when you get a DUI you imposition everyone for rides, and bail out money, and moving in with them because you can't keep your job so you lose your apartment....The vicious cycles.  Oh, lawdy.  Happy planning, you drunk asses. 

Here's some additional information from what looks like a reputable source, whose overall interest is to sell you their products: The High Cost of a DUI.

Holy Crap This is the Coolest. Mussels + Bass = More Mussels.

Avenging Uterus.

Avenging Uterus.  Go ahead and have yourself a good laugh.

FTW Key Holder.

Get your grubby little hands all over this heavy duty, hand tooled, leather key holder.  Do it.

DirtyFree.Etsy.Com  

FTW. Every rebels favorite sentiment. Pucker up and put this piece of punch on your belt. Cause this baby is gonna hold your keys all day looooong. 100% Hand-made, heavy duty, hand-tooled and dyed, by moi (me).

Only 1 available.

How to Make Friends And Keep Them

Look No Further Than This List Of Popular Baby Names.

Both my Great Grandfather, Great Grandmother and my Grandfathers names are on this list.  

Guten Tag.

Billy T James

Dolly Parton: Daddy's Moonshine Still

You Betcha.

Have I got a Dirt Bike Story for you!

Well, there comes a time in every athletes life when they are due for a weeeee little injury.  And it looks like I was ripe for the picking.  But first, you must always make sure you had the time of your life, and enjoyed every minute of the adventure and athleticism that took place before you injured yourself.  That's exactly how I made sure it happened. hahaha.  

Here it goes....

         It was a beautiful Sunday morning.  I'd slept till 10am because it was sort of hazy outside and I couldn't tell the time of sunrise. The camp was all abuzz with 2 and 4 stroke dirt bikes at that point, ripping in and out of the camp, everyone getting their last runs before they packed up and rolled out.  First things first, feed Julien. Julien, was my cat who was on this epic move from New York to California with me, and a real road warrior to boot.  Next, I put my boots on, grabbed my helmet and a NOS from the cooler, and headed across camp, up to the Husqvarna tent.  There I met up with my riding partner.  Ya see, the night before she told me that she wanted to ride with me, and I was so stoked.  I couldn't wait for Sunday morning.  There I was, sipping on my energy drink, waking up and looking at the bait for a 125, which would have been a small step up from the 85 that I rode the day before, but all the 125's were taken.  So instead, there it was, the 250 4stroke.  A meatier animal, but much like a friends bike that I'd enjoyed riding Saturday afternoon.  It was slightly taller than the 85, had better suspension, and a much nicer engine (more power).  Perfect for all those hills we'd be ripping up and down.  Before you know it, I was putting my energy drink down and we were off. Bounding up hills and bombing steep tracks down hillsides, crawling up rocky canyons and 1st gear long climbs to the top.  When we'd risen out of the thick of the proving grounds, we explored across the channel up another hill.  Well, when I got to the top, I felt that the left fork was more of an option for me, but I immediately turned around and tried to follow her up the right fork, and since it was such a steep slant around that blind from left to right, I was crawling in first gear so that I could keep the traction on that sifty steep surface.  Well, turns out she was coming back to see where I'd gone, and she was in that right line that I was gonna take, so I made a move to adjust my line on the left side and scoot around her, and I gave that 1st gear some throttle, but instead of it grabbing and moving me anywhere, the rear tire slid down into the sifty steep siding, throttle taking off as I was still holding on when I slid off the seat, The bike had nowhere to go but naturally walked up on the left wall, flipping a 180 in the air.  And it came down in all it's glory sideways on my knee, pinning me to the ground.  In those very painful and quick moments, I knew I had to get my knee out from where it was trapped, and so downhill being to my left, I rolled my body left breaking contact with my knee and the bike.  That was the most excruciating thing I'd ever felt.  I thought for sure my leg was two completely different items by this point.  It took me a sec before I could even look down to assess the damage.  Well, remarkably there was no dangling participle below my knee, and everything seemed intact.  It was at that point purely a miracle and good riding boots.  I grabbed my lower leg and shimmied up onto the rim of that steep bank.  My body began to get hot, so I took off my helmet and jacket, wincing in pain, with slight maniacal laughter, and snippits of jokes to break the tension while we sat up there hoping I could muscle through the injury to make it back to camp.   The pain was making me nauseous.  I wanted to puke.  I did not want to be carried off that hill by a helicopter.  So we made a plan that my riding buddy would ride my bike down and then she'd come back up and I'd ride down on the back of hers.  She was so good, and helped me get on the bike and we rode down that hill very carefully, I didn't even feel any bumps.  So then we got to the bike I was riding, she helped me get off her bike, and onto mine, keep in mind this is all happening while taking brief pauses to wince and recover from the pain, and to suck up as much as I could to make the mission possible.  I leaned forward on those handlebars enough to slide a leg over the seat with as little trauma to my left leg, and she put the bike in 1st gear for me, and I pushed the start button and I rode off slowly down the trail toward camp.  She quickly got on her bike and raced to the front and guided me in to camp on the easy roads, then she beat me to my truck and as I slowly rolled up to her, she helped me off the bike, and then helped me hobble to the bench.  I was absolutely not wanting to draw much attention to myself, so I tried to be as invisible as possible.   My riding buddy helped me crawl into the bed of my truck where I'd spend the next few hours waiting for my sister.  The Husky folks brought me some comfort items like energy drinks, and made sure my cooler and food was all accessible.  A couple of camp neighbors saw that something wasn't right, and they came over and kept me company here and there.  Didn't take long for the camp ranger and medic to show up and take my vitals and splint my leg.  They were awesome.  I told them I'd have to leave my truck in the camp for a day, and that I was being picked up to head to the hospital.  They said they'd keep an eye on things while I was gone, and I was set.  When my sister got there, I needed her to load all my campsite things into the truck before we took off, so that everything was nice and secure in the truck while we were gone.  She did an excellent job.  She was a real trooper.  And off we were in no time to the Los Angeles VA Emergency room.  Long story short, we all know how ER's go.  They took X-Rays, and they absolutely found NOTHING BROKEN.  But there wasn't an MRI tech in house so the Dr. put in the order for an MRI and I had to follow up.  They initially scheduled me a week away, but I wasn't sitting for that, so I was on the phone calling MRI to see if they had any cancellations and openings, and on Wednesday they told me to come in and have a seat.  I got there at 2:30, and I was out by 3:30, amazing turnaround.  That brings me to today, Thursday, the results are that I have a completely destroyed Miniscus, and some other torn tissues.  But the worst of it being my miniscus.  I think that's pretty neat.  And tomorrow I have to get someone to get me an appointment with a surgeon and get my knee worked on, because I'll be laid up for a quick minute.  

Nonetheless, I can't wait to get back on a dirtbike.  I always have such a great time.  This next time I'm gonna ride with knee braces and all the pads.  Then I'll be set to rip and tumble, and I won't have to worry bout any more major injuries.  hahaha   Operation quick heal, Operation ride! 

Backpacking/Camping in the Backyard!!!!!

Last night I practiced my camping tricks in the back yard. I hiked 50ft out into the backyard with my loaded backpack, then before I did anything, I started my fire with my magnesium fire starter and spark shavings. This took a second, because my first starter went out, but I was able to use some sparks again to get it rolling. Pine leaves are highly flammable, and is a great starter to any fire. Once my fire was established, I set up my tent. Then I got out my stove and can of soup, and started the fire in my little stove using a small stick from the main fire. I'm using one of those Esbit cooksets, and I have only about a few minutes of burntime per cube, and these ones I am using are so old, and barely light so I reeeeallly had to keep throwing them on there, to keep the flame up. My goal is to get better new burn cubes, because I don't want to have to pack compressed gas. I mean if that's what the most efficient means to a long backpack trip means versus me carrying the equivalent amount of fuel cubes, its going to come down to convenience, packability, and weight. So another stove might be in my future, but this one was light and cheap, so I figured, why not. Anyway, after a good while of playing with the flame under my stove, my soup got to something called medium temperature, and I ate my soup next to the fire. I then packed my stove away, rolled up my things, packed down the tent, and loaded up the backpack and headed on down the trail, and I hiked all 50ft. back inside the house.

"Larry Crowne" Movie Review

Movie Review: On my very hungover post-Easter/Spring Monday, I slept till noon:30, and thus I wanted some easy food and a light hearted movie. I casually browsed the selection on Netflix, and there it was, the movie that piqued my attention was "Larry Crowne." A vibrant romcom, that I'm sure will inspire anyone to never fear the unknown. It will strike a lot of the right chords for any audience viewer. With a whole cast of amazing characters; Tom Hanks, Julia Roberts, Brian Cranston, George Takei, Pam Grier, Taraji P. Henson, Cedric The Entertainer, and tons more familiar faces. Really really cute and light hearted. Left me with a smile on my face, and a skip in my step. Go ahead and do yourselves a favor and watch something refreshing. Watch "Larry Crowne" on Netflix.

For the people.

I wish nothing more but for my liberal friends to develop good relationships with firearms. Learn to shoot, learn to know these weapons, become proud owners. Because unlike our conservative counterparts, who know and understand that to secure a freedom and way of life, you need to be willing to die for it, and defend it. And a gun has always been the most civil of reckoning tool. It can be used to persuade evil intentions to leave you alone, and it is a wonderful negotiating tool, when it comes to securing your freedoms and hard earned way of life. This country wasn't founded or secured with pacifist ideals, and the pursuit of freedom for many wasn't secured without many a hard fought battle between violently contentious ideals, and the new rights and freedoms that we are trying to secure in this country aren't going to be secured without a solid frontline of progressive patriots willing to fight and die to pursue and secure our hard earned rights and freedoms. We as America won our freedom from England by the gun. Slavery was defeated by the gun. So many eras of forcible expression fought with the gun, for the right to hold down new and achieved freedoms in this country. Same as in other countries whose people and ideals are at warring odds; The progressive vs. the antiquated. When the status quo tries to prevent at all costs the progress in mind and body of their people, the people must fight to break that old mold, to pursue, and secure new freedoms. And old mold is not broken without a forcible blow.

Chew on that.

Call me old school, but...

I might be at odds with a lot of you pot culture folks, because I'm someone who doesn't like the stuff, but because I have sooooooooo many friends who like the stuff, I've always tried to take a positive stance and show my support for the legalization of it, because the whole "alcohol vs. weed" history thing.  And there are a lot of you out there, with whom I'm close to in various different ways, who smoke an awful lot.  I always question ones ability to just be present, and just be mentally and emotionally available.  And if I were to have a beer every time someone smoked a joint my liver would be toast, and I'd be drunk all the time.  Like, I don't drink in the morning, but weed smokers will have weed in the morning.  How is that even ok?   What is so wrong with feeling life and emotions the way we as humans were supposed to?    Sober isn't just for alcohol anymore.


This Vice Article will Enlighten You.