24 hours

I’m sitting in the basement of my good friend Jeremy’s home. He’s upstairs, madly pawing through boxes, bags and containers of gear, working on sorting everything. My other great friend Mike is on his way here now, driving his KLR through the lightning, thunder and pouring rain. Our great friend Julie departed yesterday in her 1987 Chevy G20 van, leaking oil and guzzeling gas; the first of us to start on the road north. Because of the van’s characteristics, we decided to let it get a head start to Wyoming, where we will meet back up with it. In two days time, the three of us are leaving on our motorcycles for Alaska, and things are about as hectic as a one legged man in an ass kicking contest around here. I’m lucky enough to be the most prepared of us all, and decided to take this time to sit and write on my blog, listening to Jeremy’s frantic footsteps above my head. 

The last week, not to mention the last two days, have been an adventure in their own way. One of the most interesting part of this whole trip is everyone's unique story, and how it all combines together into this crazy, awesome adventure to explore life on the open road. 

Last night, all three of us did the “Doohickey’s” on our KlR’s, a part of the timing chain adjustment system. That within itself involved pulling apart three bikes motors, running out to get oil and filters when the ones we had were wrong, and figuring out what we were even supposed to be doing. Mike’s turned out to be already done, which saved an hour, but it still took all day between the three of us. Reusing the gaskets and bolting on last minute modifications like driving lights and air injection delete systems, we were calling it close. It was an even closer call when upon startup the next morning, Jeremy’s bike was emitting a constant whirring sound from the chaincase. After several hours of frantic research and phone calls to fellow KLRista’s, we discovered it was a slightly common thing and were going to go with it as is. One storm cloud passed. 

At the moment, the biggest issue lies in everyone organizing their gear and packing it on their bikes in the easiest, strongest and most balanced way possible. I’m still waiting for my new set of glasses, and the gear that ThermaRest is sending me as part of their support for my trip. Mike has spent all day organizing his gear, 90% of which he still hasn’t used. Something tells me Jeremy will be fretting long into the night and early into the morning about his gear setup. (He’s just now walked in, arms full of MRE’s and a look on his face like he doesn’t believe this is real)

Then there’s the van crew, which consists of Julie and two people whom she hardly knows, Dillan and Allsion, who are fellow employees at the glacial guiding camp where we are all heading to in Chickaloon, AK. Latest report from them, a quick message from Facebook, consisted of a list of factoids. The van was slowly but surely leaking oil, despite the 8 hour oil pan job I had done two days prior. Also, 60 MPH was the destined top speed because apparently it starts to overheat at any speed higher then that. However, Walmart was still our savior; Julie loaded up on oil for the trip. They had made it to Ohio. And Bob, the resident cat, had decided to show what he thought of the whole thing and defecat-ed all over the floor underneath the bed in the back.

The evening is drawing to a close, and soon I must ride up to my house and button it up for what most likely will several years of vacancy, interjected by brief visits from friends to make sure no bears had layed a nest in my bedroom, or the family of squirrels hadn’t moved back into the kitchen. There are three more motorcycles in the living room, one each belonging to Jeremy, Julie and I. For the first time in my life, I will be moving away from the place I had always called home, since I was a wee little baby. The full concept of what we were undertaking hadn’t really hit any of us yet, tho we would burst out with laughter ar random moments when the thought would strike our mind. However, with the fact that I would not be returning home for many years, while the other two riders would be coming back after about two months, I felt like I had more to realize than the others. I had always had a longing for life on the road, living with what was on my bike and enjoying the beauty around me. But as with any life-changing event that finally happens, the scale of it can sometimes surprise even the most prepared. 

So now I embark on the beginning of my new life, out into the great world that has remained hidden from me for so very long. While the idea of what I now face is enormous, nothing has ever excited me more. As Buzz Lightyear says- “ Into the great blue yonder!”

TDG