The joy of trip planning--and a painful reminder

Trip planning has an appeal all its own. I realize now that it isn't just about where I'm going to travel, it's a process. Trip planning is a ritual of sorts that signals the riding season is around the corner. Last season, I didn't go to all the places I had planned on but every place I went, I truly wanted to go.

As a researcher, I love nothing more than pouring over things, looking behind the statistics, unearthing long dead things, and poking around in unfamiliar places. To me, curling up with a map and travel guide is more fun than one should have alone.

When I was little and would ask my parents a question about some esoteric tidbit, they would frustrate me by saying, "Look it up, that's what a library is for." They lived, I believed, only to make my life difficult. In retrospect, I think their refrain was a wise one. Early on my search for answers took me deep inside libraries and gave me a parent-approved, ready-made excuse to be excused from most chores and family duties. Looking up stuff had some wonderful hidden rewards! I enjoyed annoying the most patient among my teachers when I wielded my new found knowledge as a weapon against boredom. For me, K-12 was mind numbing--and you know what they say about idle minds... Books and stories held secrets. I feel that way still. And maps...well, they hold the most secrets of all.

While taking notes on places to visit, it dawned on me that this is my third riding season since my return to motorcycling. According to the famous Hurt Report (that really is the researcher's name!), a rider with "two to three year's experience is even more likely to crash than the new kid," as quoted in Proficient Motorcycling by David Hough. This sounds counterintuitive but it really makes sense. After a couple of successful seasons (i.e., no accidents), a rider can become "cocky" and mistakenly feel that s/he knows all there is to know. They start to ride on automatic rather than ride with a consciousness that this could be the last ride ever. I don't ever want to visit that zone.

To stay mindful, I go through the motorcycle check before my daily mount. I've actually gotten on the bike and gotten off again when I've forgotten this step. I don't expect the machine to change much in these daily checks--it's not about that really. it's a way of getting my head and heart ready for riding. It slows me and everything else down (in a good way), it gives me time to think about what I need to remember and execute on the road. This fun we take on can be deadly at any time. This time to slow down matters is also the hidden benefit of donning gear. Personally, I don't ever want riding to become a quick and easy thing I do. Driving my car had become that way. I would just hop in, buckle up and drive. Fortunately, I only drive stick shifts. I think do so imposes a bit of this "mindfulness" that I'm referring to.

Two things I've vowed to do to launch each riding season: 1) take an advance riding course, which I'm scheduled for next month; 2) read one or more of the classics (anything by David Hough, or the MSF's Motorcycling Excellence, or year's worth of my favorite moto magazine's riding skills articles).

I do something too that others might think rather morbid. I read accident reports. Some people probably don't want such reality checks but I think that most two-wheel riders need it now and again--it's great anti-cocky research. Until recently, however, I didn't know just how powerfully such an exercise could affect me. While visiting one of my favorite haunts, Adventure Riders forum, I happened across what I thought would be an interesting ride report. I paused to read it and soon found myself hooked. It told the emotional story of Clayton Schwartz's trip on a KLR650 from Seattle to Argentina. I couldn't stop reading. If you ride two wheels, take the time and read Clayton's aka "Ozymandias" story. Please, read it to the end.

***

Queenie returns from winter camp today. The weather looks great the entire weekend! A little parking lot practice is in order to reacquaint myself with my gal pal. Tomorrow, a short trip.

Ride safe. Ride smart. Ride mindful.

Comfort food needed, but "I don't want a pickle!"

When I was around 7ish, my twin cousins, Floris and Doris (yes, that's their real names) used to bribe me to spend the night with them almost every Friday night. They did so with pickles. Big, juicy dill or sour pickles that their father brought home from the pickle factory where he worked. It worked every time. I loved the things. We used to bite off the top, the pointiest part and stick a peppermint stick down it and suck up the sweet-tangy juice. It may sound gross now, but that was tummy-licious snacking then. But there is such a thing as too much of a good thing. I think I tired of having the twins fight over whose bunk I'd share. After all, they only lived downstairs from me and I much preferred my own bed. I had my fill of pickles by the time I was 9. Today, I detest the things. I've eaten enough to last beyond a life time.

A couple of days ago I had one of those insane days at work and I needed comfort food for lunch. Miller's Pub in Chicago makes pretty dang good grill cheese sandwiches but I always have to remind them that I want it with cheddar cheese, not American cheese. I patiently tell them how much American cheese makes me sick, sick enough to upchuck. They get it wrong more often that I care to reveal. I almost always forget to tell them to leave off the pickle--'cause I don't want a pickle. I don't even want it near my sandwich. The word we used as children for really gross food was "vomit-ticious"--and pickles to me definitely are.

Today at work I felt on the precipice of a mammoth meltdown. Murderous thoughts crossed my mind a couple of times. Whenever I feel like this, a motorcycle ride is the panacea. When I get on my bike, I am all business. I am focused. I am centered. To ride safe, nothing can distract me. Whatever is ailing me, must be shelved. Having to focus my energies and attention on the task at hand, amazingly calms the nerves, regulates the breathing, and relaxes the mind. After finding that zone, that place when everything is clipping away at a good pace, the fun begins. Mentally, I am always in a better place at the end of a good ride.

I needed to ride today. In the worst way. Although a bit chilly, I would have endured the temps. Even the angry, robust winds wouldn't have discouraged me. After all, this is the Windy City. I have braved winds that made the bike seem to ride at a 45 degree angle. But Queenie isn't home from winter camp yet. So, I came home and did some motorcycle 'net searching--a poor substitute for a ride, but it's all I had. It did help quell some thoughts of work place homicide.

In my web searching, I found something that captures my sentiments EXACTLY. Arlo Guthrie and the Motorcycle Song.

"I don't want a pickle, I just want to ride my motor-sickle"

Listen and watch Arlo!

Sing it Arlo

Obama, race and motorcycling...

What does Obama's "Race" speech have to do with motorcycling? A cursory glance and the answer is probably "Nothing." But a closer study--to me at least--and race has much to do with riding. As I listened to CNN and MSNBC and various local news stations deconstruct Obama's "Race" speech, I was putting together early plans for the riding season.

Like many, Keith Olbermann of MSNBC praised Obama's speech. For him it had universal resonance. Olbermann considered it reasoned and intelligent in a way politicians are not known for demonstrating. Olbermann felt Obama particularly poignant because Obama's speech drew us in on a personal level. His considered thoughts about his grandmother, explaining how in spite her stereotypical and often cringe-worthy comments, he loves her. She is family and he could never reject her. He spoke of similar feeling about his minister, even while he rejects the content and tone of his message.

Olbermann felt that this mirror Obama was forced to put on his life could encourage a public discourse on race. Olbermann went on to talk about his own grandfather whom he loves but heard use the "N" word when his baseball(?) game was interrupted to announce the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. Olbermann remembers his grandfather's admonitions not to touch a black person because it would rub off on him and he would turn black. As a child, Olbermann found these race lessons disturbing and confusing and hard to reconcile in a grandfather he loves. But he has. Many people are forced into this kind of mental reconciliation concerning family and friends we love but with whom we do not agree.

Olbermann remarked that we all probably have people like this in our lives who say inappropriate and unacceptable things. While I may not agree entirely with Olbermann, I get his point.

Cognitive dissonance. That's what was running through my mind while listening to all the post "Race" discussion panels. Simply put, cognitive dissonance occurs when one holds opposing or conflicting beliefs about the same thing. These views co-exist--in an itchy sort of way. The discomfort, particularly if one struggle too long and too hard at reconciling and bringing meaning to the conflicts, ultimately can lead to all sorts of crazy-making thoughts and behavior.

An example of cognitive dissonance I remember hearing in a college class pertained to being an American. Accordingly, we are expected to be patriotic, to love and honor country. But the country can be wrong and do wrong. I recall first reading about the "Trail of Tears"? Cognitive dissonance. Read the Constitution. For me, it leads to cognitive dissonance. I recall my grandfather's tales of serving during WWII and telling me that black soldiers were relegated to sitting in the back of army trucks--behind captured German soldiers because of segregation and how serving in segregated units contradicted American ideals and how it felt returning home to a society as uncivil as ever to him and those who look like him. Let's just say his stories of growing up in Louisiana in the mid 1900's were character building. Many people lived with cognitive dissonance. Yet, until the day he died he remained a man proud of his service to his country, a country that denied him full citizenship during the formative periods of his life. Cognitive dissonance. So, where's the motorcycle connection?

Well, I'm a free woman. I come and go when and where I please--mostly. Riding solo is my right. I know the dangers and I recognize and accept the risks. I am not naive. I consciously quell the voices inside that whisper about strange and evil men lurking about, waiting to slash and murder those that dare to venture out alone or far.

I suffer from wanderlust via two-wheels. I can stay close to home but I read the papers. A stray bullet can shatter a window and a family's life as a child is killed while watching television in the safety of his own home. I ride because it's fun--it brings me peace and a joy that restores my warm-fuzzies about humans and nature in a way that nothing else does. Out there, on my own, I am renewed and and the strength within is unearthed. Yet that joy and peace is often interrupted in some small way that matters a lot. For the most part, I choose to ignore it (or navel gaze on it here) .

As I now hover over atlases and maps and tour guides, my mind fills with dreams of traveling to far too many places than time and funds will allow. Like a kid in a candy store, I consume far more than I can digest. Last summer I didn't go to half the places I put on my wishlist, but I logged a ton of miles just going where I wanted, soaking up memories and taking pictures that pull me through the harsh Midwestern winter.

While planning, a bout of cognitive dissonance creeped in. Deep down, I fear certain places. These tend to be remote (meaning they are beyond the urban centers). They are the kind of places that when I ride in, it is obvious that I am the main tourist attraction. Many places are like this. In some of those places I feel fine. In some others, I feel extra-terrestrial or like I'm sporting a tail. I hear the comments, I see the elbow nudges, and the pointing children (whom I can forgive). None of this ever deters me, mind you. I go where I please and as long as no one puts a mean hand on me, you will not read about me in the newspaper. It can get exhausting, however.

I live in these united states, where principles of equality, freedom, pluralism supposedly applies everywhere and defines our nation. Thus far, however, I've not had a riding season without at least one incident, one experience that is strictly racial. I know we motorcyclists get crazy stuff happening to us on the road all the time. I get that too. I'm referring to something else. I'm referring to eating in a restaurant. A pit stop. A hotel reservation made on the spot. Stupid comments yelled from a car---obviously some people didn't get the memo--and haven't heard about it either--written in 1865.

Our founding fathers Hamilton, Jefferson, Madison, Franklin all owned slaves. Yes, I know one must understand these human failings in the context of history. Cognitive dissonance. I know it well.

I believe in the democratic ideals this country espouses. The reality is that some don't believe these apply to me. Other people's problems can suck the peace and joy out of motorcycling. Riding, in spite of the venom out there, is my way of exercising my freedom.

This riding season, my mettle will be challenged to the max. I admit to fears--rooted in ugly facts--of riding alone through the South. I am reminding myself that my experiences outside the South haven't been a piece of cake. Can riding South be any worst? Collectively, my relatives would say "Yes." But two dear friends now live in the South. I've accepted their invitations. So why has Billie Holiday's "Strange Fruit" been running through my mind?

It's easy to get stuck in the toxic mucky-muck and never step beyond one's bubble. I must believe that there is more good out there than bad. Cognitive dissonance. And when I dwell in all the contradictions, I tell myself, "This too shall pass." I force myself to refocus on the good. When that doesn't work, it's yoga breathing or taking pictures of flowers or going underground for alone time with a good book.

My riding plans are underway. Come hell or high water, a solo trip South is on the list. Tennessee and North Carolina, here I come.

Ramblings...

Well, my new work schedule, 4:30 a.m. to 12:30 p.m., launched this week. Actually, it was my decision to switch to a schedule more harmonious to my normal sleep habits. I am distracted, exhausted and stressed by a traditional 9-5 work schedule. Normally, by the time I get to work, I've already been up six hours, which means I drag myself through the remaining work day. Given this and the current work load before me, I decided to work on my schedule rather than on some archaic corporate clock. Still, now that I'm no longer totally self-employed, having to be somewhere on any schedule and working regularly with others is taxing. It wears me out. Work environment can be over stimulating and downright toxic, to say the least. (See the lone motorcyclist? It was 56 degrees Sunday!)

I ride solo for many reasons. It's my time to be alone with my self and my thoughts. It's the only time I can do exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. If my bladder screams, I stop; if I want to ride the whole dang day, there is no one with whom I need to negotiate. I've found that I prefer solo work too. In less than a week of the new hours, I'm feeling less stressed by the work environment but it has done nada for the stress the job itself generates. (How it looked a couple of weeks ago)

Tonight, in spite of feeling exhausted and crabby, I took time out to peek in on some of my favorite "haunts." I didn't get to comment much or at all on some sites, but the visit leaves me feeling inspired and missing old pals. I may not want to ride or work with others, but I thoroughly enjoy hanging out in cyberspace with kindred spirits.

So, I'm fighting back! Regardless of the chaos of work, I need regular 'net visits with pals, like Crusty the Biker, Sojourn Chronicles, Motorcycle Misadventures, Scooter in the Sticks. Do drop in on them too. And here's a special "Shout out" to a new fav, Jack Riepe at Twisted Roads. Reading him guarantees a smile or outright belly laugh! Tonight, he helped me deal with the pangs of severe PMS--not the kind you're probably thinking of--although reading him might work for that too!(Seen at a motorcycle show)

Here's to my favs--looking forward to catching up and reconnecting!

Musings on music, culture, hopes of riding soon...

In the wee hours of Tuesday, February 26, I had the television on so low it was barely audible. I do that sometimes to feed my news-junkie habit. As I busy myself doing other things, I can hear the faint discussions transpiring from the TV. Occasional I turn to glance at it or pause to take in a snippet of news. Rarely is there much else on at three in the morning; in fact, some news outlets, like ABC World News Now, repeat the same news ad nauseam throughout the night.

Tuesday’s post midnight news was dominated by the Clinton vs. Obama debate. I had heard every political pundit and analyst debate who the winner was and had reached a saturation point that made me listen with only half an ear. Then came some huge news—and I’m not talking about the umpteenth snowstorm that was transpiring in Chicago outside my window. In minutes, an announcer said, the New York Philharmonic Orchestra would be performing “Live” from Pyongyan, North Korea. My ears tuned in.
For more than a year, plans were being laid for this concert. It would be the first and largest cultural exchange with North Korea. The announcer called the event historic.” I longed for the music to start and when it did, magic happened. I sat mesmerized, forgetting about the snowstorm, trying to forget about the fact that motorcyclists were out riding on Saturday and now, on Tuesday, we would be digging out from an estimated 5-8 inches of snow.

Lorin Maazel, the conductor, and the orchestra fascinated the audience. The orchestra began by playing the anthems of North Korea and the USA. The orchestra played Gershwin, Dvorak and Wagner. I especially loved Dovorak’s Symphony #9 in A Minor, better known as the New World Symphony. I don’t think I’ve heard it performed better. Gershwin’s “An American In Paris” seemed to have special significance and I couldn’t help but think of the Americans in North Korea. Panning the audience showed the raw emotions evoked by the music. Some faces seemed lost in the music as people listened with their eyes closed, others moved their heads ever so slightly; one person, a woman, dabbed her eyes.

Thunderous applause followed each piece. An effusive audience showed their appreciation with stand ovations, the last one lasted five minutes! The concert ended with the playing of Arirang, a much-loved folk song evidently adored by both North and South Korea. The audience was visibly moved throughout the concert but the finale brought the house down, so to speak. The concert was followed by a discussion with the audience. Watching Maazel interact across cultural lines added true class to the evening. Such cross-cultural exchanges are demystifying, they facilitate a much-needed understanding among humans outside of all the political caterwauling.

North Korea’s best cellist said he yearns to travel and perform abroad and hopes that the successful visit by the New York Philharmonic Orchestra’s created such opportunities. Music really is a universal language--you could see it on the faces in the audience. I could feel the connection thousands of miles away.

While this blog entry nothing to do with motorcycling, it has a lot to do with traveling to distance lands, which is what appeals to me most about motorcycling. For many reasons, not the least of which is political propaganda (on all sides), individuals and groups must be bridge builders and bridge crossers. As I continue to research places to ‘cycle this riding season, I shall remain mindful of the historic cultural exchange between North Korea and New York Philharmonic Orchestra.

Now, if only the riding season were in sight!

California beckons! And, where or where can I get my moto clothes cleaned?!

Recently, a work-related assignment sent me to CA, specifically the Bay area. It was four degrees Fahrenheit when I left Chicago and, of course, the wind chill made it feel like minus 11 degrees F, according to the weather report. By the time I reached Menlo Park, CA where I stayed for part of the trip, a blue sky and the sound of motorcycles at every turn made me forget my roots and wonder what it would be like to live in this part of CA. Riding year 'round, having mild winters, ridding myself of the need for a car...I can live with that--happily. Then I remembered the earthquakes ...

In Palo Alto, on Stanford University's campus, bicycles are ubiquitous! A tour guide said there are 14,000 students enrolled there and 12,000 registered bicycles . I don't know if this includes faculty and staff who ride to work, but the place reminded me of images of China's congested two-wheel traffic. Riders zipped around campus, which appears devoid of overt bicycle lanes . How they manage to avoid crashing into each other is beyond me. But bicyclists seem to know who has the right of way and how to avoid cell-phone talking strollers immersed in conversations so important that they are exempt from following any rules of the road, and bicyclists seem also adept at avoiding tourists, who stop wherever the mood strikes to read the campus map.

I didn't miss the special parking set aside for motorcyclists either. Very thoughtful.

Next stop: University of California at Berkeley, the massive flagship school in the mammoth UC system. Talk about set aside motorcycle parking! It's everywhere! I saw a young guy riding a silver '02 SV650. I couldn't restrain myself from striking up a conversation with him and given that I am old enough to be his mother I knew he'd know that I wasn't trying to pick him up. I asked him how he likes the SV. He loves it! I've yet to meet an owner who doesn't.

He told me that he pays a nominal fee to park on campus but that all street parking is free for motorcyclists. He's able to literally ride to his classroom building. He also introduced me to many of the bike's upgrades, none of which he added, by the way. He got a "great" deal because the previous owner did all the work. He had Givi luggage and rack, Corbin seat, and a "slip-on" exhaust system, which gave his bike a nice, deep throaty sound--definitely not loud. Still, his neighbors complain about it. Their problem, he said, is that they simply don't like motorcycles. They've complained but his landlord, who lives on the premises has sided with him and also contends that the bike's exhaust level is a non-issue. Frankly, I'd add that "slip-on" in heart beat. It wasn't loud at all! It brought to mind a Ducati I once heard...

While walking the streets of Berkeley, motorcycles were omnipresent. Parked along each street, sometimes lined up four and five cars deep. I saw several SVs and if I didn't fear an arrest and didn't respect other people's property, and no one was around to catch me, I swear, I would have tossed a leg over one of them and just had my own little personal thrill for a minute or two.
San Francisco, near Fisherman's Wharf, was a haven for motorcyclists. By then, I'd become less obvious in my glee at seeing and hearing a bike go by. I focused on the riders. Every one I saw wore a helmet--including the passengers. I did notice that many wore the beanie helmets, which I surmise is an attempt to circumvent the mandatory helmet law 'cause those helmets sure didn't look very protective.

Beautiful weather the entire week made me wish I'd made arrangements and had the time to rent a bike while there. I must return in March and if time and funds permit, I think I'll look into that...Upon my return to Chicago, and despite the fact that I was met with single digit temperatures and a wind so cutting that it could easily rip the skin off your face in only a few minutes of exposure, I felt inspired to get my moto jackets and pants ready for the riding season. I diligently separated the hand washables from the dry clean only. The first cleaners hesitated to say he could clean the garments. Something about the leather and textile mix? Within days, I learned that they could not clean the garments. Supposedly, the leather parts could be cleaned but there was concern about the textile.

Recommendation: "Clean it yourself." Later, I stopped into another cleaners and explained my situation. "Oh, yes, we can clean that." But upon examining the two jackets and one pair pants, a husband and wife team said they would check with their cleaners (the cleaners has a cleaners?--outsourcing, I guess). Well, long story short, they won't or can't do it either. I have about six or seven jackets and several pairs of pants. These three items are the exception with regards to cleaning. Every other garment can be hand washed in cold water. And, I typically avoid purchasing clothes that need professional cleaning. I bought these garments because they are cute--and protective. See, it's easy to get the protective part, but as a female, it's challenging to get the cute part. It's difficult to acquire garments that fit your shoulders and taper a bit in the waist. Contrary to what some motorcycle cloths makers think, female riders need more than a garment made for a male but in a smaller size. It's about the cut and the style and...oh, don't get me started.

I'm not a clothes horse; however, I've become a fashion maven about motorcycle wear. I don't ride comfortably when the jacket I'm donning doesn't fit well and reminds me of being a child trying on her father's coat. I've made too many purchases that initially seem suitable, only to find out later that they don't ride well. One doesn't wear such garments, they sort of just hang on you. So, now I have these two jackets that ride well that I absolutely fancy but can't get professionally cleaned!

Fortunately, I have other jackets and pants that can be handwashed. But I tell you, they are not as much fun. They are functional, yes, but not necessarily fun. I desire and deserve both. For example, I love my FirstGear Kilimanjaro jacket--it's definitely my favorite.

For long trips, I never leave home without it. There are those days, however, when the FirstGear is in the laundry and it's a beautiful day out, where I know I don't need to worry about rain protection or plummeting temps and I want something a bit more stylish.

I bought a silver TourMaster Transition jacket, which I wore around the store for a long time, debating its practicality. I bought silver to match my helmet and the trellis on my bike. Bad idea! The jacket is a dirt magnet! I can stretch three, maybe four outings out of it before desperately needing to toss it in the laundry--that's way too much work. Thus, it hardly gets worn.

The quest for an intrepid cleaners to tackle my jackets and pants continues. But just in case the search fails, the back up gear is clean and raring to go.

It is 22 degrees F this morning. Still, if I take a really deep breath, after the nose hairs thaw a bit, I can smell spring in the air. I really can...

Motorcycle Bloggers International Riders Choice Awards

(Click picture on the right to see the weather-proof scooterist)

Motorcycle Bloggers International (MBI), a group of dedicated motorcyclists for whom “riding and writing is what we do,” is at it again! It’s time to nominate the best and worst in all things motorcycle related in 2007. What were the best products introduced—and the worst? Who were the extraordinary achievers in motorcycling? Who contributed great things to the motorcycling world in safety, touring, and adventure riding, to mention a few? Let’s not forget the fallen stars, those who demonstrated “a serious lapse in judgment in 2007.” Nominations continue until February 10th (sorry for the short notice).

Voting begins February 15 and runs through March 16, 2008.

Winners will be announced on March 19, 2008.

I’ve nominated Carla King for her amazing contributions in solo motorcycle touring (national and international), her extraordinary “misadventures “ and her wonderful motorcycle blogs and book authorship that keep readers up-to-date on her whereabouts and newsworthy motorcycle information. She's recently partnered with a frequent visitor here, the multi-talented, D. Brent Miller of Sojourner Chronicles, and now offers a Miss Adventuring Podcast series--very cool! I can't hardly wait to dig in there!

***

Here's what it looks like here in Chi-town:

Sleepless in Seattle...

I just returned from a business trip to Seattle, WA, my second trip there in recent months. This time I didn't rent a car, which encouraged me to walk and rely on public transportation. One afternoon, I spent what felt like one week using Seattle's Metro Transit after being given incorrect information by two bus drivers and let off by another one more than a mile from my destination. Another bus driver became a little agitated when I asked her where I should exit to get to Pacific Place, a popular downtown spot. She said, "I'm only familiar with my route--I don't know the best stop." Thus, I became lost at least once. But it really is the best way to see a city.

I overheard a number of people talk about how "cold" it was in Seattle. The temps stayed in the mid-forties the nearly four days I spent there. At the time in Chicago the temps were in the low double digits, like 10 degrees. One day I checked in on Chicago and it was 8 degrees with a wind chill that felt like minus 11 degrees! Comparatively speaking, Seattle was downright balmy. True to its reputation, the skies were mostly gray and cloudy with billowing cloud formation with the sun trying its best to peek through. It made for dramatic sunrises and sunsets that were nothing short of glorious.

While there I noticed that two wheel travel is the mode of preferred transportation, particularly around the University of Washington. Seattle seemed way ahead of other cities in "living green." Everywhere I looked multiple waste containers clearly marked what could be deposited inside. People diligently and patiently disposed of their waste according to the posted rules. Similar multiple receptacles can be spotted here in Chicago but not to the same magnitude IMHO--but we are a serious bicycling town too. Although I didn't make any resolutions to start this new year, I vowed to live far more consciously greener. I've always done some environmentally friendly things but like many people, I need to do more.

Motorcycling has led me to have a different relationship with my car. Living in a place where I could ride year 'round would help me eliminate the need to own one altogether. I haven't driven it in months. Seven months has been my longest stretch of not driving. I went the whole summer without touching it and last winter I rarely drove it either. And, I like driving because I drive stick shifts only. I can almost convince myself driving a stick shift is similar to riding a motorcycle--almost. In the city, I find that I don't need a car. It's suburban living that demands a car to go just about anywhere. Ultimately, I'd like to do without owning a car altogether. I can rent if I really need one. Or, join one of those share a car deals, where you pay a fee, requisition a car online, and you're directed to a nearby pick up spot. Problem is, manual transmission are virtually impossible to rent these days. I've been told that not enough people drive them to motivate a rental service to carry such cost efficient, less complicated vehicles.

My last trip to Seattle had me slapping the floor of the rental car feeling for the clutch and waving my right hand between the front seats searching for the stick. It took me half a day to keep my hands on the steering wheel and to stop driving with two feet--it was distracting. After getting the hang of it, I realized how completely sleep inducing it is to drive an automatic! It bored me silly, left me wondering if mind numbing tedium is part of the reason folks drive while reading newspapers, applying make up, eating Big Macs, and talking on cell phones. They've got way too many limbs free!

To see so many people in Seattle on two wheels, well, it was refreshing. I'm sure part of that stems from being in a college town. Still, Seattle seems a more environmentally friendly place judging from all the organic, green- and environmentally- friendly signs and establishments broadcasting their organic nature and eco-friendliness. Even my hotel was 100% smoke free. I had to sign a statement saying I agreed not to light up in my room or I would be charged an outrageous price for the cleaning and fumigating the place after my departure. I liked that.

When I travel, I always ask myself if I can live in that place. I feel I can now answer that question with a resounding "Sort of." The limo driver told me that Seattle is devoid of the weather extremes we have in Chicago. That's a good thing. Seattle also doesn't get much snow. Hmmm...I like snow. For me, winters would be difficult there because one hardly sees a blue sky for very long. Both trips, albeit they were less than a week each, transpired under cloudy gray skies. On the first trip, it rained each day, steady sometimes brief and light drizzles that didn't seem to phase the two-wheelers at all.

Yet, those cloudy skies produce some amazing sunrises and sunsets that look beautiful in a distance and over mountaintops. Great food is expected in Seattle. Seafood--they love it and claim the best fish chowder around. I never made it to the signature chowder place but I take their word for it. I ran into many eateries that rival the food dished up in Chicago--and we know food here is serious business. If you don't drink coffee--I do not--it might not impress you that Seattle is home of the original Starbucks. Coffee shops are ubiquitous. Tully's is another coffee shop that seems to give Starbucks a run for its money--not sure which came first. Woodland Zoo is just amazing! Seattle also has a downtown waterfront along Elliott Bay and, of course, there's Puget Sound. Both waters could lessen my certain pain at missing Lake Michigan. It's being able to ride nearly year 'round that appeals to me most...yes, I could live in Seattle. Purchase some winter riding clothes--I'd be set. Well...sort of.

The "sorta" part results from not having any extended kin there. The older I get the more I want to be near these people I spent the greater part of my life trying to escape. I want to be close enough to get to them when I want to or when they need me yet far enough away that I feel free to be me and feel unfettered by their proximity. In addition, I love residing in a place where I can anticipate the boundaries of a space, where I can visualize what's around a corner. In my mind's eye I can see just about any place in Chicago just by looking at an address. Such familiarity creates comfort. When I rented the car for my first trip to Seattle every street was new, every curve on the Interstate was novel, none of which I minded but it created a sense of discombobulation, a feeling of general uncertainty. I was often caught in lanes that went where I didn't want to go and I had to work my way quickly to another lane. Funny thing is, this excites me and adds to any adventure on a motorcycle. In a car, I felt stressed and it could have been the result of driving the automatic more than anything else.

In Chicago, long before a rode dips or dives or merges this or that way, I am prepared, I can anticipate ( and compensate for) every curve on the various interstate routes that intersect Chicago. To me that's something, something that has taken decades to master.

Seattle, I'm sure, is a nice place to reside. For me, it will have to do as a nice place to visit. I'd love to ride my bike out there and head to Vancouver, which is only a few hours away from Seattle. To rub shoulders with MT. Rainier, MT. St. Helens, and Olympic Mountains to mention a few is a huge draw. Traveling allows movement outside one's comfort zone.

Perhaps the question isn't, "Can I live here?" But rather, "Is this a great place to visit, or what?" Seattle is on my return visit list! Gotta figure out a motorcycle ride there. That limo driver said, August is the best time to come...

Weather report: BALMY!

Major snow melt here this weekend! Unseasonably warm weather propelled many folks outdoors. Yesterday's temp's reached above 60 degrees F! Chicago. January. Sixty-degrees. That's rarer than good thinking from the current political administration--IMHO. Had I kept Queenie a bit longer, this would have been a riding weekend like no other! Sunday was beyond warm! Some shoppers strolled the "Mag Mile" coatless while I sweated bullets in mine.

Blue skies, however, have been in short supply! Typically, the last few days have started with dense fog and tiny patches of blue trying to peek through as the fog dissipates. A blue sky, however, has failed to show its full self in days. Am I the only one looking this gift horse in the mouth? While I thoroughly enjoyed this miracle from Mother Nature, I can't ignore Mother Nature's heavy hand in other places. Look at what is transpiring elsewhere (e.g., parts of California, Nevada, Florida, the Pacific Northwest and in regions abroad). Weather-related problems are running the gamut too--from torrential rains, winds above 70 mph, and massive snowfalls. As Marvin Gayle croons, "What's going on?"

Number of motorcycle spottings this weekend: Two. A couple of lucky ducks in full bike-matching riding gear, sporting Suzuki crotch-rockets. I took their engine revving personally! While I had a camera with me, they were going too fast, it was too dark, and the unmistakable 'cycle sounds sent me into an an envy-induced paralysis. Seriously! I had assumed the pain of withdrawal was over. Nah. It lurks right beneath the skin, ever ready to spring forth (pun intended).