The longest trip I’ve made so far on my motorcycle was last summer when I rode from Fort Worth to our place in Port O’Connor, a tiny fishing town on the Texas coast. It was about 350 miles, and it took nearly nine hours.
But on Thursday, Leon and I will be leaving for a nearly 6000-mile journey to the California coast to ride up the Pacific Coast Highway to visit our daughter Price in Issaquah, Washington, then home by way of Idaho, Montana, South Dakota, and then Nebraska to visit our good friends Mike and Jan in Omaha and an old college friend of mine, Greg, in Lincoln. On the bikes. The whole way.
And yes, I said “bikes,” not “bike.” I ride my own. Leon tells everyone it’s because I don’t like the name for the passenger seat on a motorcycle, and though it’s not the only reason I have my own bike, I’ll admit I’m not a fan of that derogatory term. Maybe eventually people will stop calling it the “bitch seat,” and maybe some day I’ll be content to look over his shoulder as we cruise down the road, but in the meantime, there will be two Harleys in our garage.
So we’ve been packing, putting together tools and first aid kits, experimenting with rolling clothes versus stuffing them in Ziplocks to save space, reading forums and blogs with tips and lists of must-pack items, etc. I’m sure of one thing: we will learn a lot in the next three weeks about how to do a cross-country motorcycle trip.
I look forward to seeing a lot of this great country of ours and to sharing it with you all on this blog.
McGeesBeTrippin 