I do enjoy motorcycle trips. Maybe it’s the riding; perhaps the solitude, could be the inevitably scheduled visits with old friends. I think it’s all three. When I mounted the steed this morning in Central Arkansas, the temperature outside my garage was 27 F. That’s -2.7 for you Celsius people. At 70 mph that comes to a wind chill of 4.75 F. The night before, my wife and I, both, momentarily questioned why I do these things and my best answer was “This is my fun.” So this mor

The sun was beaming in my window this morning, beckoning me to come out and enjoy the clear skies. I had one more class to attend at the conference, and then Lib and I were free to take whatever route home we wanted. Interstate, with its open throttle, laid back groove; twisty hilly curves with the obligatory shifting and leaning, or long gentle curves where you might scrape a peg once in a while. Yes, Arkansas has it all. I chose Highway 23 from Brashears to I-40, and any ri

I woke up to the sound of rain and thunder again yesterday morning. There’s not much that puts a damper on a day for a motorcycle trip like waking up to rain and thunder. Thankfully, I was prepared for this, as I had watched the news the night before enough to see that scattered showers were forecast. So I looked at the radar and instead of admitting defeat and climbing into the Toyota to drive to my conference in Northwest Arkansas, I waited out the storm. Once I made it to

I left my visit with my new vodou priestess friend feeling educated and thirsty. For that reason, and to quench my everlasting curiosity about all things curious, Lib and I rolled just a few blocks down the old, worn out streets of the Vieux Carre’ to LaFitte’s Blacksmith Shop. Built in 1722, it is one of the oldest buildings, if not the oldest, in Louisiana, predating St. Louis Cathedral as well as the Cabildo. It is now one of the oldest bars in the U.S. I left Lib outside

As I said previously, after a pleasant lunch and good conversation with Pastor Strong of Brown’s Chapel, I set off into the Alabama summer heat, south toward the coast. The ride was uneventful, which is sometimes a good thing. Punctuated by a couple of light rain sprinkles and otherwise intermittently sunny roads with little traffic, I made it to Panama City Beach in good time and found my hotel. The next morning I rose knowing I had plenty of time due to the buses not being

There are few things like a solo motorcycle trip to straighten out your head. In the hot summer of 2013 I packed up my Triumph Sprint ST to escape. I couldn’t get away from the heat, so much as the humanity. But I’ve always heard that’s more of the problem anyway. At least it is for me. I follow a general rule not to travel by motorcycle if I have to hurry. Hurrying affects your judgment and that’s not something I’m willing to gamble on with half as many wheels as usual. That

I wrote recently about the fact that you have to learn to enjoy the journey of life and not simply seek a destination. I believe the truth of this. I do. Truly. But you want to at least have a destination in mind, right? For example, when I ride a motorcycle, I want to go somewhere. I can enjoy the leans and the shifting and the acceleration, but my head tells me I’m just wasting gas if I don’t have an objective aside from the joy-ride. For this reason, I don’t ride as often

Flat tires blow. Flat tires are a drag. A flat tire can suck the life out of a good ride. On Sunday morning of March 14, 2010, I was sitting under a tree in south Arkansas. I could still see the Louisiana line to the south, and a long road to Hamburg to the north. I was riding my first motorcycle – a Suzuki Intruder – back to Conway, Arkansas from Monroe, Louisiana. I had it painted cobalt blue with silver flames down the top of each side of the tank, and matching flames on t

Aretha was a healthy black woman with a thick flat creole accent,  who had come to Conway to escape the aftermath of the Katrina disaster in the Ninth Ward of New Orleans. She and her friendly but lethal cocaine dealer and their “adopted” child had witnessed the flooding, the terror, and the bodies in the streets. I developed a good relationship with all three of them, and I can’t comprehend the degree to which those images must haunt that child. But that’s not the point here

Music and Motorcycles. I’ve been scheduled to attend a conference at Lake DeGray State Park for some time, and I have looked forward to it for the anticipated quiet, outside of classes, and the ride here. I type as I look out the window… Few things are such endless sources of joy as music and motorcycles. And when you put the two together, well, words are simply insufficient. I’m on my third motorcycle now.  My first was a Suzuki Intruder 800. A small cruiser. I enjoyed it bu

Once a year our church hosts a youth camp called “ignite” in Panama City Beach, Florida. I enjoy cooking and serving for groups, as I have done on occasion at my church and on mission trips to Belize, so this plus one or two sons being there provides all the excuse I need for a summer motorcycle trip to Florida. Last July I looked over a few routes: a civil rights route, following an underground railroad path from Tupelo, MS toward Mobile, and then swinging over to the famous