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Condomentia
Arlo Guthrie’s Motorcycle Song changed the public’s perception of motorcycling, from wild to mild. To the point where Dr. Misao Dean wrote a dissertation on the subject for the International Journal of Motorcycle Studies (who knew?). The money shot…
In the 60s, the motorcycle was recast as an object for escaping society, not confronting it. The motorcycle became a moment of the emerging youth counter-culture: as in the urban and rural communes of the hippies, the motorcycle was a means of escaping mainstream America and getting oneself together.
Yup. I’m spending a year motorcycling, criss-crossing America and Canada with no set destination, to “get myself together.”
Confusion
According to Monica AI, “this expression is often used to indicate the need for self-improvement or to overcome confusion or disarray.”
I can always use self-improvement, but I don’t think I’m confused. I see this trip clearly: as a way to grow old disgracefully, confront my inner demons and increase my creativity. In theory.
More than that, I love me some confusion. Trying to make sense of confusing shit is my thing, whether it’s Israel’s war on Hamas or TikTok love gurus’ war on niceness.
I reckon I’ll find a lot more grist for my mill out there, somewhere. Especially as I’ll be looking for confusion, both internally (talk about alone time) and externally (taking the road less traveled).
Disarray
Meanwhile, the prospect of leaving Austin for good is creating disarray. I’ve got three months or so to do something about my condo. It should be easy to sell, but isn’t.
The balconies were built badly (that’s spall folks). The HOA hit me with a $50k surcharge and buyers can’t get a mortgage until the fix is in.
I can sell the condo to a cash buyer at a loss or lease it until the job’s done (a year-and-a-half from now, allegedly), then sell it for proper money. Oh wait. Literally. The wait for permission to lease is a year long.
The Board’s got three conditions for jumping the queue: penury, pregnancy or a geographical change in employment. The chances of me being with child are slim. So I’m doubling-up on Travels with Charley as a job and adding penury to punch-up my proposal.
I have to prove that I can’t afford to sell my condo at a loss and don’t have the cash to leave it vacant and pay my mortgage, HOA fees, gas and accommodation.
So I’m putting the condo on the market to establish my inability to recoup my investment, so I can get permission to lease it. Go figure.
Divesting
Then there’s selling or storing the Audi, the Triumph, some furniture, a bunch of watches, oriental rugs and a pinball machine. Sorting out paperwork. Arranging my prescription drugs. Getting into physical shape.
And then there’s the trip itself…
On a Wing and a Prayer
The Gold Wing’s a burly beast, but its carrying capacity is perishingly small. Those saddlebags struggle to fit a single backpack. If I bring heated clothing – hypothermia killed my cold tolerance – that’s one saddlebag done.
What the hell do I pack for a one-year motorcycle tour? Do I need to bring quarters for laundromats? Where do I put them?
I’m a three-cigar-a-day smoker. Honda doesn’t make a humidor (a better name for a VW anyway). I’m looking at a severe diminution of my nicotine intake. It’ll pay for most of my gas, but OMG.
I know: if these are my worst problems I’m one of the fortunate few. I’m also an old man.
The prospect of an accident or illness in the middle of nowhere frightens me. I have never depended on the kindness of strangers, but I’ve a feeling it’s time to try. Does it really make loving fun?
As for motorvation, the Gold Wing’s comfortable AF and ridiculously maneuverable at any speed, including urban crawl.
The engine’s too loud at 70mph and above (earplugs are the Amazon order of the day). The throttle’s touchier than a gun control advocate, but I’m confident experience will make it second nature.
Limbo dancing
I’ve already written about this weird period of my life, when I’m here knowing here’s not going to be here. Just like I did in ‘85 after my parachute accident, before leaving Atlanta for parts unknown.
As I face the reality of what I’m doing, the reality of the life I’ve been living is, as expected, starting to fade. It’s as bittersweet and scary as I’d imagined.
One thing keeps me stable: the thought of writing for this website. With a bit of luck and wind in the right direction, Travels with Charley won’t be my final work, but I’m determined it’ll be the best. Until the next thing, I mean.
Your patronage here means the world to me. Well, America and Canada, anyway. Thank you for reading the random thoughts of a wandering Jew. I will do everything in my power to make it worth your while.