Okay, I just studied the weather radars for the last couple of hours and concluded I probably could have shot down I-70 with only a couple of hours of rain between here and Topeka, Kans.
But in the interim I did a few last-minute things, including get a haircut, that I needed to take care of. I discovered last night that a small plastic spray bottle of Deep Woods Off froze and ruptured inside a little cordura pouch that velcros to the side of my right saddlebag. That's what I get for storing it in an unheated attic over the winter. The bug repellent turned the inner lining of the pouch into a gooey, unusable mess. Fortunately, I was able to call the bag maker's shop in California, determine that they would have a booth at the national BMW rally in Spokane weekend after next and that they would bring an extra pouch for me. It seems like a trivial thing, but I need all the carrying capacity I can get on that bike.
And, yes, I packed my journal so I can blog any profound thoughts and observations that may come to me during my travels.
As I write this, my eyes are watering from an overdose of Burberry cologne. My wife bought me a bottle over the weekend, hoping to lure me away from the aging bottle of KL Homme I still cling to. I applied just three spritzes from the spray bottle after my morning shower and I've been regretting it ever since. I don't know if it's because it's new and fresh or if it is just naturally more potent, but a little goes a loooooooooonnnng way. Now, nearly 12 hours later, my eyes are still watering and I get a noseful of cloyingly sweet citrus smell with every breath I take. From now on, one spritz will be enough. I'm surprised the young woman who cut my hair this afternoon could stand me.
The bike is gassed and loaded, except for the tankbag and the XM radio, which I'll attach just before I roll out in the morning.
This is the point at which I often ask myself why I'm doing this - going to the effort and expense of careening around the countryside on a motorcycle, all the way to the Pacific Ocean and back. I find myself wondering if I'll survive this trip, if I'll become someone else's roadkill or bugsplat. Will I ever see this place or my wife or my dog again?
Yeah, I know that sounds stupidly dramatic and the sheer act of writing the words gives more weight to the thoughts than they merit. But I have similar thoughts whenever I swing a leg over the saddle of my BMW. I think everyone who rides should start every ride with the realization that this is an activity that is inherently dangerous and risky and requires more skill and attention than droning down the Interstate on four wheels.
That realization is what helps keep me sharp and paying attention.
Unless something really significant pops into my mind during the night, this will be my last blog entry from home.
I'll have computer access in Colorado, maybe in Spokane and probably in Portland, so there will be updates as I travel.
Adios, Amigos.
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