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2015: The Year in Rear View
‘Tis the season of the 5″x7″ personalized state-of-the-union address. Rejoice! Unless you happen to have a mild Grinch-streak and unlimited-space motoblog, in which case you’re rejoicing at the opportunity to dissect the holiday card phenomenon while you simultaneously indulge in it. (I may be a hypocrite, but at least I’m self-aware and honest). So here’s the thing. Every December, our…
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Ich bin ein Luftkopfer
Well, I done did it. After about a decade of web-surfing, forum-lurking, Craigslist-checking, and general Beemer-fantasizing, I finally did it. I took the plunge and got myself an airhead (luftkopf in German). For the uninitiated and to be clear, airhead does not refer to a bimbo trophy wife, at least not here. While airheads do inspire…
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British Jam and German Toasters
A perfect New England August Sunday. The banks of the Connecticut River at Haddam’s Neck. Dollar-corn-on-the-cob. And a shit-ton of vintage bikes, mostly British, but plenty of Euro and Japanese candy, too. I mean, how could you resist? I couldn’t. So on this fine August Sunday, I took a (car) ride up to the 30th annual…
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Mission Planet Utah: Stage 2
Ground Control to Major Tom….Ground Control to Major Tom…. Take your protein pills… and put your helmet on… Ground Control to Major Tom (Ten, Nine, Eight, Seven, Six) Commencing countdown, engines on (Five, Four, Three) Check ignition and may God’s love be with you… On Tuesday, we awoke in Sector Torrey to a motel room…
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Mission Planet Utah: Stage 1
“Whether it was the ergonomics of the planes, the isolation, an individual person’s psychology, or the perspective of being up so high, break-off sometimes seemed to produce emotional extremes in pilots and others being prepped for space exploration. Some not only felt separated from Earth. They also felt like they had detached from reality.” — from…
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Sunday, Mass
Well, the riding planets aligned on Sunday. Liebe and the kids were either occupied or dispersed—one in NJ for soccer, another at home studying for finals, and the third—my son—in bed with laptop, recovering from an acute case of the Senior Prom… So combined with a perfect June day, it was the perfect excuse to…
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Baja, Ten Years After.
Ten years ago, and on the occasion of my turning a sharp, gravel-strewn corner into midlife (I hit 40), my wife sent me packing. On a gift trip. I guess there’s nothing particularly unusual about receiving a “milestone” birthday gesture like this. Spouses surprise spouses—and partners, partners—when the life-odometer turns over, and you become the proud owner of…
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Blue Friday
It’s the day after Thanksgiving. And if, like me, you hosted yesterday’s ritual food orgy, you’re waking up to a one-third filled sink, a two-thirds reassembled kitchen, and a three-thirds over-extended duodenum. The remains of your turkey carcass probably looks like a giant aluminum foil ball, jammed into the fridge and balancing on top of yogurts, barbecue sauce…
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Goodnight, Vroom
Each November, like many other riders throughout the northeast, midwest, or anywhere else it gets too cold or snowy to ride, I lay my bikes up for the winter. The ritual involves a good pre-sweep of the garage; exquisite outdoor-junk geometry to pack the maximum amount of crap into minimal space; fuel stabilization with Sea Foam or Stabil; the…
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A Ride by the Book: The Trans Mass Trail
Despite the interstates and commuter lines, Walmarts and Home Depots, crumbling industrial-era mill towns where longarms, brass fittings, mantle clocks and hats used to be made, despite Fairfield County’s tri-state gravitational pull, the Boston Post Road, Boston itself, urbanized and under-serviced cities like Bridgeport, and greater Hartford’s well-insured suburban sprawl, New England still has plenty…
Longitude & Gratitude
Writing around on motorbikes.
longitudeandgratitude.blog 