The first of us headed out last night, on bikes and planes aimed homeward. Tommy and Max were kickstands up this morning, burning west toward Boise to knock off a Saddle Sore 1000 sanctioned by the Iron Butt Association. We’ve all swapped hugs and commitments of goodwill. A knot of four riders and one girlfriend … [more]

The first reaction a guy might have to Sturgis is that no rules apply. Like most first reactions, this is bullshit. The rules are just different: specific, unspoken, and not applicable elsewhere. Like the rule asserting that bare torsos are acceptable on Main, with or without body paint. Also its unspoken corollary that states, “Large, hairy … [more]

Princess Thunderjugs, our pistachios ‘n’ cream 2015 Indian Chieftain with a paint-matched passenger pod lashed alongside, was in fine form today. There are two sidecars, our own dear PTJ and a red-over-red hack with a smaller, lighter car. With three rotating amputee passengers between the two rigs, we have plumbed the inky black depths of … [more]

I’m really not sure I’ve seen Glen that happy anywhere else on this trip. We were drifting through sand, banging over rocks and dodging pucker bushes in the nastiest, most capable off-road vehicles this side of an Israeli Tomcar. “All this thing needs is a crew-served and a big-ass turbo!” Whoopin’ and hollerin’, we clawed … [more]

Monday morning was hurry-up-and-wait, but every rider was cheerful and the feeling was as familiar as leather personnel carriers: we were embarking on a squad-sized vehicle road march, with a support team in larger vehicles. Up in our room, George and I had fiddled with gear, packing and repacking bags and pockets and jackets and … [more]