Miles Between Friends

By W. Craig Langford

Two estranged friends embark on a cross-country road trip on motorcycles. 80 days. 17,764 miles. 19 national parks. 3 concerts. A wedding and a bike rally. Will they make it home without killing each other?

• Language: English
• Publisher: W. Craig Langford
• Release date: Apr 10, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987974513

Book preview

1

The sky was dark and cloudy when I stepped onto Mark’s back porch. A steady vapor rose from my coffee as I sat on the steps enjoying the time to myself. I wouldn’t go so far as to say I’m a morning person, but I’m usually up before dawn. A passing memory of strangers near Sturgis, South Dakota, calling me a lone wolf as I climbed onto my motorcycle brought a hint of a smile to my face. Not at all how I would have characterized myself seventy-five days ago before starting this trip, but it somehow felt spot-on.

It was time to get back on the road, a feeling I would have looked forward to except for the bittersweet notion it was all about to be over. The time I spent with Mark and his family in North Carolina was a lifesaver. It turned out to be one of the high points of the 15,000-mile odyssey and offered much-needed downtime to relax and clear my head.

The screen door creaked open, and Mark stuck his head through.

You got coffee? he asked.

I held up my cup before taking a sip.

You got your phone? he asked before sitting down next to me on the steps.

I held up my phone to show him what he’d already guessed.

There’s something you need to see on Facebook, Mark said.

What’s up? I said. I didn’t expect the solemn look on his face

Go to your friend Tim’s page, Mark said with his head down.

It only took a minute to find the offending post.

Are you kidding me? All this time? He never said a word! If I ever see him again, I’m going to kill him!

This was not the way it was supposed to end. My old friend David and I were supposed to ride our motorcycles across the country, reconnect, enjoy great food, drink great wine and spirits, and spend countless hours telling lies around a campfire. We were supposed to ride across North America for three months, going wherever we wanted, doing whatever we wanted, and visiting old friends we had not seen in years. Instead, we rode for two and a half months barely speaking to each other at times and intensely frustrated at others. So much so that we parted ways in Coeur d’Alene, Idaho, after riding over 10,000 miles together.

After we split, I rode to Sturgis for bike week then to Denver for a show at Red Rocks Amphitheater. I stopped in Nashville for a few days of catching up with an old friend and arrived at Mark’s for a couple of weeks' rest before the last leg home to LaGrange, Georgia. I had no idea where David ended up until reading that Facebook post.

I sat on the steps, my mind searching back, trying to digest what I had read. Though we’d had no contact in the three years leading up to our adventure, David and I had once been close friends.

What’s wrong with him?

Mark shook his head.

I had waited my whole life for this trip. As a boy growing up in LaGrange, my road trips usually meant packing into a car with my parents and brother and sisters and visiting relatives. My older sister, Kathy, and my older brother, Kenny, had already moved away from home by the time I was old enough to remember, or it would have been even worse! We visited my dad’s or mom’s family in Alabama, about an hour away. At a young age and packed like sardines into a midsize sedan, this seemed like an eternity. We never really took vacations. There was the rare camping trip in the summer, but that was about it. My parents had briefly traveled west in their youth but were settled by the time I came along. My love of travel was not born out of personal experience, but of longing.

That longing came from books, movies, and family stories I enjoyed as a kid. The first idea of a cross-country road trip came from family members who had traveled to and lived in California in the 1950s. They planted the seed at an early age when my dad and uncles would sit around someone’s backyard and reminisce about the good old days. By the time I was in junior high, I could tell those stories as well as they did. Every vivid memory. The stories were always the same, told as if they were brand new and as though no one within earshot had ever heard them before. I hung on to every word, hoping for some additional detail, but the stories were always the same. I even grilled the storytellers during and after the sessions for more details.

How big was the ranch where you worked? I asked.

I’m not sure how many acres it was, but they put me on a D-9 Caterpillar bulldozer that pulled a ninety-foot plow. I started on the night shift and plowed all night, eight full hours, but I never made it all the way around the field, my dad said. My uncles nodded in agreement.

I knew that already.

Stories that centered around travel were always my favorites. I loved movies like Swiss Family Robinson, which I watched on Sunday evenings along with the rest of America on the Wonderful World of Disney. The Robinson family found themselves stranded on a deserted island after a shipwreck and forced to live off the land after salvaging what they could from their half-sunken boat. They made a shelter–the coolest treehouse ever–farmed, hunted, and fished. Everything I ever wanted in an adventure story was found right there, complete with pirates, wild animals, and beautiful women. I spent most of my younger years wanting to live in a treehouse just like the Robinsons. I read the book in high school, and it was even better than the movie. Years later, with a family of my own, I made the trip to Disney World where I found the replica of the treehouse from the movie. I was like a little kid again! I realize that technically there was no road in the Robinson tale, but it has everything else required, so I still consider it a road trip story. The same holds true for stories about the mountain men and old western movies. If there is travel involved, count me in.

I spent a lot of time reading books about the American West too, both fiction and nonfiction. My favorites were books about Lewis and Clark and the mountain men who followed them. Men like Kit Carson and Jim Bridger made a living as scouts, guides, trappers, and explorers, and they survived for months at a time on what they came across in their travels. These stories fascinated me like no others. Some were very graphic and described in great detail the trapping and skinning of wild game, the preservation of the hides for personal use or the market, life in the wild, and living off the land. The guns and gear they carried were the best they could get at the time and are still beautiful works of art one could trust their life with today if the situation were to arise.

I remember reading one particular book that included descriptions of the wild game they ate and how certain animals tasted. They ate deer, buffalo, elk, beaver, bear, and even crows, possum, and skunks when nothing better was available. The author described this in great detail on the pages I read. Although I could not imagine eating crows or skunks or possums, the possibility definitely intrigued me. Those mountain men’s stories helped create in me a deep desire to see the country long before I even realized it.

It was not just books that sparked my imagination. When we were little, my brother Kelvin and I often stayed up late watching a wide variety of movies that ranged from old westerns like Stagecoach and The Searchers to modern films like Smokey and the Bandit, National Lampoon’s Vacation, and my favorite, Easy Rider. What caught my attention most in those old movies, besides the motorcycles and cars, was always the scenery. America looked incredibly beautiful and exciting, and I wanted to see every bit. By the time I started high school, I dreamed of a cross-country road trip, and deep down I knew it would be on a motorcycle.

When I was older, my pastor and dear friend Bruce shared amazing stories about his many travels throughout the country. He told me about places I was familiar with as well as places I had never heard of before. One of his favorite places was Monument Valley, and his description of the immense sandstone monoliths made me want to hop on a motorcycle and leave that very minute. The valley has also been very popular with Hollywood and featured in many of the movies that I love.

It’s just like those old cowboy movies, only in color. Red mostly, Bruce said. Red sandstone shaped by time and nature into anything you can imagine. There’s one that looks like a giant hand giving a peace sign. We both laughed as he demonstrated with both hands.

There’s one that looks like a snail. One that looks like a bunch of horses running across the desert. Then you ride down the road and look at them from a different angle, and they look like something altogether different.

He would end his stories with an altar call encouraging this wretched sinner to get out and experience the world.

I didn’t spend a great deal of time thinking about traveling in my twenties and thirties. I got married, worked, cared for my family, and lived my life. But the hope that someday I would get the chance to see America was always there, and if the opportunity presented itself, I promised I would be ready. The chance finally came in 2016.

Serious planning for my cross-country trek started when I decided to sell my house in LaGrange, Georgia. Two years after divorcing my wife of twenty-five years, I found myself working out of town more than I was home and paying mortgage and utilities on a big house where I spent very little time. It was time to let go. My daughters, Audrey and Hillary, were both grown women with families of their own, and while they felt a connection to the home where they grew up, they were relieved to see me moving on with my life. Whatever that means.

By April 2015, I had decided to sell my house and take the trip of a lifetime. I sat across from Leslie at the kitchen table we once shared and gave her the rundown of my plans. Leslie is my former wife, my best friend still, and maybe my third wife in the future. (Then again, maybe not. It’s complicated.) My first two wives were her as well. We married as teenagers, divorced after about 5 years of marriage, and remarried about a year after that. From then on, I told people we were married off and on for however many years since the first time. She hated this at first, but later she would laugh and tell people the same thing. Then, we divorced again after nineteen years but remain close to this day. She asked me what my plans were, and I shared my idea for this trip. It wasn’t real until I shared it with her. As long as I kept it in my head, it was just an idea. Now it was a plan with Leslie in the loop.

So, you’re going to travel around the country for three months? On a motorcycle?

Yes. Yes.

Huh. And how do you plan on paying your bills?

I don’t plan on having any.

Huh.

I plan on selling the house, paying off my bills, and taking some time to travel the country.

Huh. Where are you going?

Well, I plan to ride to California, maybe to Mexico. From there, I will ride to Canada more or less following the Pacific Crest Trail. Then I’ll ride from Vancouver to Calgary, over the Canadian Rockies, then to Idaho and Yellowstone, then back home.

Huh.

Her reaction was a combination of surprise, excitement for me, and a tad bit of jealousy. Well, maybe more than a tad. Leslie loves to travel, too, and she would not be going along this time. I asked her to go. She declined. She had responsibilities at home caring for an aging mother with failing health and caring for our grandchildren. Leslie is one of the Oreo generation, sandwiched between parents, children, and grandchildren.

Well, I hope that works out for you, she said.

I doubt she thought it would. People make plans all the time and not all of them work out, right? But there it was. She knew. I felt like I could make some concrete arrangements for the future.

Through the years, I have discovered that I love the planning stage of travel. Two years before, I had packed up my things and traveled across the country to take a job as a travel RN for a home health agency in Puyallup, Washington, about forty minutes from Seattle. That decision also came after a conversation with Leslie. We had been divorced for about six months, but we had spent quite a bit of time together since the split. We had even discussed counseling and the possibility of reconciliation. (I know. It’s complicated.) So, when she said she absolutely did not want to revisit our relationship and I should move on with my life, I called a nurse recruiter, Stephanie, whom I had been in touch with for a few years after filling out an online profile for a traveling agency. She called me every few months and asked if I was ready for travel nursing. No, it’s just not the right time. Sure, you can call later to check up on me, I always told her.

I called her this time. Stephanie, I’m ready to travel.

That’s great! Where do you want to go?

Seattle.

Wow. Seattle. You are ready to travel, aren’t you? Since you already have your Georgia nursing license, let’s get you a travel job here in Georgia so you can try it out, and if you like traveling, we’ll get you a job in Seattle. That will give you time to get everything in order, your Washington nursing license, and whatever preparation you may need to travel across the country to work. Are you familiar with Statesboro? I have an opening there, and I think you would fit in well.

That sounds great.

So that’s what I did. I took a job in Statesboro, Georgia with a home health company and planned my trip to Washington. I’m not sure why I enjoy planning and preparing for a trip, but I dove in headfirst. The first thing to do was apply for my Washington State nursing license. I made lists of things I wanted to take with me. When I realized all those things wouldn't fit in my small pickup truck, I refined those lists. I simplified my bills; I paid off as many as I could. I knew I wanted a cheap way to explore Seattle and the surrounding area, and a motorcycle seemed to be the best solution, so I found a small bike in a local pawnshop and bought it. Since I had only held a learner's permit in the past, I took the tests to get my motorcycle license. I decided a couple of weeks before leaving that I wanted a bigger bike, so I traded the pawnshop bike for one. I would carry it on the back of my truck with all my belongings in the front and back seats when I left for Seattle.

Keeping my mind and body busy during those five and a half months was crucial to my mental health. I never wanted a divorce, especially at forty years old. Dating had no appeal to me, and traveling to Washington was a lifesaver. Looking back, I guess I ran away from home, simple as that. It didn’t feel that way at the time, but that’s what it amounted to, and I’m very thankful for being able to do so.

2

Ithought it might take a couple of months to spruce up and sell my house. It took closer to fourteen. Because the house stood empty for most of the two prior years, there was a lot of work needed to get it ready to put on the market. I was also working out of town and commuting home on weekends. I worked tirelessly every evening I could and spent weekends employing every available family member and friend with spare time to help.

Landscaping, painting, cleaning, and all the neglected routine maintenance were largely complete when I contacted my real estate agent. Joel is an old friend and the best real estate agent in LaGrange. He visited one day in early April and had to pick his way through a mountain of furniture, tools, ladders, and paint to get to the backyard where he found me taking a break. He stood beside the pool, taking it all in as I tried to imagine what was going through his mind.

He said, What can I do for you, brother?

Well, I said, I have two requests. I told him how much money I was looking to get out of the house and about the need to sell as soon as possible. I’m planning on taking the summer off to travel the country for ten or twelve weeks on my motorcycle.

He maintained eye contact and said, Exactly when do you plan to leave?

Joel is a friendly guy. He smiles a lot. Probably helps when your job is selling houses. He was only half smiling at this point.

June 22.

I could see the wheels turning.

Boy. You don’t ask for much, do you?

Yeah, I know I’m asking a lot, but I’m willing to do whatever you need me to do to make this happen.

The eye contact continued, and I doubted if he believed me.

Let me run some numbers, take a look at houses in this neighborhood, and I’ll get back to you tomorrow.

He called early the next day, and I could tell right away he was optimistic.

The numbers look pretty good. He gave me his opinion on what the asking price should be and told me I should offer assistance with closing costs. I think we can come very close to what you’re asking. The market is really hot right now in this area for homes in this price range. But—

Ok, here it comes.

There’s a lot left to do, and we need to get it listed as soon as possible. If we had put it on the market yesterday, we would still be pushed for time to get the deal closed by June 22.

I’m on it, I responded confidently.

The truth is, I had done little else in the past year besides go to work, come home, and work on the house every free evening and weekend with the end goal of selling it and taking a long vacation. I wasn’t sure, but I believed I could make it happen. The next few weeks were brutal. There were nights