Long rides

I’ve always liked long rides. Not epically long, not Alaska to Tierra del Fuego, but rides of hundreds of miles, rides that cross state lines, that cross a chunk of this North American continent. My first ride ever, the first few days I owned a motorcycle, was 1700 miles, from my home in Indianapolis to Tucson, Arizona, in 1962.

Since then I’ve crisscrossed the country many times, and I still look forward to doing it. I like the anticipation, the planning, the bike