Transitioning into the Trans America Trail or…..Day 1

I’ve been packing the bike for nearly a year now. Trying different configurations here and there and boiling things down to what I think I will need, what I know I will use often, and even some things I may not need, but would like to have “just in case.” When you add those things up, they start to get quite heavy. I’m not as light as I could be, but I am as light as I’m going to be and much lighter than many bikes I have seen while spending hours and hours reading limitless ride reports. She’s ready for her Day 1 Backyard Photo shoot.

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Home sweet Home — Tiny RV

Today is a soft opener. I’m taking some dirt forest roads and the Blue Ridge Parkway to meet up with my son, get a feel for how the bike feels at full pull, assess how well the months of packing pays off in real world scenarios and not just short shakedown runs, and spend some quality time with my son.

As I leave it starts to hit me — homesickness. I will miss my wife. I’m not saying that to butter her up (though it can’t hurt ;). It’s something about the trip I have been dreading. The excitement mixes with the qualms and makes for some pretty interesting feelings as I kiss my wife and throw a leg over the bike.

Underway I feel heavy. The bike handles as it would be expected to — twitchy in front, sluggish in back. No matter. Every bike I have owned, I just learned to ride around its misgivings. Poor suspension set-up, poor braking, underpowered….these are all part of the personality of a motorcycle. They are things that can be improved, but your ability to ride the bike as is and adapt your skillset to the hardware is an important ability to possess.

I get about five miles from home and laugh in my helmet — gas light! The KTM 690 Enduro has a .66 gallon reserve and ticks off miles since the light came on sarcastically but not until I am already two miles past the closest gas on route without pretty much backtracking straight back to the house. Oh well…turn around it is.

Once gassed up, it’s on to the gravel. The front tire makes itself known by trying real hard to tuck in. Hello! Had my first “dab” not 15 miles in. This 5000 mile section is going to be interesting.

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Looking forward to it. 

“Isn’t today your last day?”

“No. It isn’t. It’s the first.

I walk down the sterile, well-lit hallways with a plastic bag full of long, smoke-filled nights, years of sleep deprivation, some really good times and just as many bad, laughs with friends and angry words with strangers, and arrive at my locker. It is full of hurried, last minute preparation in the form of clutter. On any other night, the locker is a place of rushed activity. Tonight I can take my time.

The plastic bag containing my uniforms is over-stuffed and only barely fits into the locker for the last few hours of my last shift. Time moves forward in a blur. While on the game, I can’t help but wonder if this is the right thing to do. I have been wondering this for months and the moment is drawing ever closer. Work is light and stress-free and invites the notion that “maybe you’re making the wrong call.” I also have to remind myself that it might just be the fact I am leaving that makes things so light and stress-free. Unfortunately I am not a very sentimental person. Many of the friends I have made wish me well and offer up their best wishes and “good lucks.” I am grateful to have worked with so many genuinely good people.

Where I work there is a process when you leave where they “walk you out.” I am reminded of the scene in Shawshank Redemption where Red is walked to the gate of the prison when he is released. Red had resigned himself to die an institutionalized man. Were it not for his promise to Andy, Red would have met the same fate as Brooks in that halfway house room.

“Get busy livin’, or get busy dyin’.”

I’m certainly not comparing my job to prison. It is in reality a really good job. The Shawshank Redemption is less about prison and more about breaking free and living the life you see yourself living despite the situation you find yourself thrust into. And here we are…..

“Remember Red, hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.” — Andy Dufresne [in letter to Red] Shawshank Redemption, 1994

Why?

“Why are you doing this?” my puzzled co-worker asks with a sort of incredulous tone one might use with a child caught writing on the walls with crayon.

It’s a simple question, but I find when I attempt to explain it to her, it becomes quite complex. To the uninitiated when explained, it seems like a crazy stunt and certainly not for the first time, it sounds like one to me!

“I have wanted to ride cross-country on my bike for years. I decided to stop waiting and do it,” I say. It’s an incomplete answer and as I say it, through my mind races 1000 more reasons that would be lost on someone that doesn’t ride motorcycles.

In the recent months, slow preparations have transformed into very focused and intense prep work. I feel the bike and gear are ready. Though as apprehensive as someone getting ready to step off a proverbial cliff might be, I am ready, too.

I do realize my perspective comes off as a bit ungrateful. When observed through the fog of exhaustion and depression, the feelings of euphoria and excitement are still there, though suppressed by the cloud I have lived in for several years now. I know it’s going to be epic. It’s a word that gets thrown around, but more appropos here than in most scenarios.

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My ’14 KTM 690 Enduro — a very mobile home.

My home for this odyssey will be my 2014 KTM 690 Enduro R. She is a low mileage bike with but ~4500 miles on her. Well taken care of and ridden relatively conservatively with the usual modifications. Most of her (few) shortcomings have been addressed and I hope feel she is ready. All general maintenance items are up-to-date and fresh.

For auxiliary lighting, I mounted a set of Rigid Industries Ignite LED flood lamps. They’re a nice, small, lightweight package and have two brightness settings. I tend to ride later than I should into the evening and have been caught out after dark looking for camp or shelter. This is a habit I hope to break on this trip, but I know riding in the dark is always a real possibility. Having lots of light can be critical. Even moreso offroad.

Grip heaters are installed. On a motorcycle, one can overlook a lot of uncomfortableness if one’s hands are warm. The high passes of Colorado are likely to still be cold through mid-June, so grip heaters are a must.

Carrying enough gear to live for over a month on a dirt bike can be a challenge. Weight and load distribution are of primary concern. The 690 Enduro, as was mentioned earlier, is not without her shortcomings. They are few and minor, but the two main ones stand out on a long-term adventure ride like the Trans America Trail.

One of these minor and easily correctable issues is cargo capacity limitations. The 690 doesn’t have a subframe per se. The gas tank is the subframe and is made of plastic; not really much of a load bearing design. This brings us to the other major limitation of the 690 for a ride like this one: fuel capacity. At 3.2 gallons with a 0.66 gallon reserve, the range of the 690 has the potential for being a huge liabilty when fuel stops are very spread out in the deserts of the southwest. A conservative estimated 50 mpg brings her in at a measly 150 miles per tank with very little left as a cushion. Wrong turns, closed roads or trails, increased fuel consumption due to terrain (sand, mud, mountain passes) could easily spell disaster with such a low margin for error. So…..how to address these issues?

For the cargo capacity conundrum, I installed a Tusk rear and top rack. The rear rack attaches itself at the passenger peg stays and places the majority of the load there. The top rack meets the rear rack at the factory grab handle mounts. It’s not as light as maybe a rackless system like the Reckless 80 would be, but it solves a very real problem.

Mounted to the Tusk rack is the Mosko Moto Scout 25 panniers. At 25 liters each, they are soft-sided and quick release, top notch quality and from what i can tell, bombproof. On the top rack is the Mosko Moto Scout 25 duffle. Same great quality and bombproof-ness (is that a word?) from Mosko Moto. I really like these bags!!

To mitigate the 690’s fuel capacity problem, I’ll be carrying four MSR 30 ounce fuel bottles in Mosko Moto two liter molle storage pouches attached to the Scout panniers. This gets me pretty close to a spare gallon and adds, again….conservatively, 50 miles of range. If I must, I can buy a cheap one gallon gas jug and lash it to the bike and donate it to someone when I no longer need it. Hoping it won’t be necessary, but the option is there.

Inside the Mosko Moto luggage is my home for over a month. It looks something like this:

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An entire household within 50 liters.

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Dresser drawers and office furniture compressed into under 25 liters.

“But why would you want to do that?! What makes you want to do such a crazy thing?” my coworker demands.

“Let me give you a 1000 word answer,” I replied scrolling through my phone’s image gallery. “I want to see this (again) and more. I’m not waiting anymore,” I say wistfully.

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Black Bear Pass as seen from Imogene Pass. Taken on one of our Jeep vacations. June 2016

“Oh my God!! That’s beautiful!! Is that a waterfall?!” she blurts out, now beginning to “get it.”

Aprehension manifested as procrastination

A warm day in February was once the things dreams were made of. I would spend the work week watching the weather forecast for a day predicted to reach  50F. Gradually, that number increased. Whether because of age or whether because of the novelty of riding slowly faded, what was considered a warm day in February gradually changed. And here we are….70-something in February. No excuses.

Deals Gap — February 23, 2012 — A warm day in February. This was once the thing dreams were made of.

I’ve been gradually assembling my kit through the winter months. I have always enjoyed camping off the bike. I am no stranger to it. For some reason, the motivation has left me. And that is how I know I am depressed. The reset that is coming is badly needed. In the meantime, I have to force myself to do it; enjoy motorcycle camping, that is. Convincing myself to gear up, drag the bike out, pack it, and get on it on a 70-degree day in February should’t be this hard. It is really hard, but I manage to do it anyway.

A shakedown run shouldn’t feel like a chore.

I struggle with whether I deserve this trip or not. Am I deserving of such a life-altering experience? Have I earned it? Why do I get to quit work and do something so crazy, expensive, irresponsible, reckless? Why should I get to do this while my wife stays home and in her daily grind? What makes me so special? With all of this static in the helmet, it becomes difficult to enjoy the ride. This is supposed to bring me peace. This was once therapy. The main antagonist is in the helmet with me; once a place he could not penetrate. It’s a very small space to share and an even smaller place for combat. Should be an interesting 6000 miles. I doubt my opponent can last that long. Can I?

I have no idea what I am doing….

I have no idea what I am thinking. It consumes every second of unused processing power of my mind. The voices of self-doubt scream a message of failure, insecurity, and fear among other things into a willing ear. I have begun to experience strong confirmation bias in the everyday humdrum monotony life has become for me. I don’t know why, but I know I must. It’s a scary undertaking and like most things, that means it is exciting.
What is it, you ask? The TAT. The Trans America Trail….by motorcycle.
My motorcycling buddies know all too well what that is. Some may not. The TAT is an ocean-to-ocean route across the United States using backroads including trails, dirt roads, farm paths, goat tracks, and all manner of two lane blacktop short of highways. It’s tough. Done at a reasonable pace, it takes three to four weeks. This leads me to the source of the majority of my anxiety.
In my line of work, there is no provision for a month off short of FMLA. I cannot see reasoning with my boss needing more than a month off to settle the inner battle I am having facing middle age. It’s a classic crisis and these sorts of things tend to not be interesting business conversations. So….I’ll be leaving my job. The classic I-quit-my-job-to-ride-my-motorcycle story. It’s certainly not a unique story. Plenty of hapless souls have done it and survived, their lives only set back insignificantly.
I’m scared. What happens on the other end of the country? What happens if my beautiful and understanding wife decides my little crisis is simply a selfish stunt and stops understanding? Can I live with myself if I let her down? Can she live with me if I don’t give in to the unrelenting desire to “do this?”
I have been pretty difficult to live with of late. I’m always exhausted. Even when I wake, I am weak, in pain, tired, caffeine addicted, and likely intolerable. I’m essentially sedentary…something I have really never been. I’m tired. Boy, am I tired. I work the graveyard shift. I have considered changing shifts, but I want the break. So I’m going to take it and do something I soon won’t be able to do again…at least not anytime soon. Who knows? The TAT may not be around once I retire. And, speaking more to my “crisis,” I may not be around either. We are not promised tomorrow, much less twenty more years.
It scares me to death. The insecurity….not the death.
I have already begun preparations. It’s looking like a solo trip and I think I like it that way. It adds to both the anxiety and the excitement. I’m accustomed to solo travel. I’m comfortable inside my own head. I’m experienced at being away from home for extended periods. I spent my formative adult years behind the wheels of big trucks. I’ve seen the entire lower 48 and been in four provinces of Canada. I’ve been everywhere, man. But, it was on someone else’s schedule and time.
If it turns out this notion and its execution ruins my life, I want to at least have used the experience to create something. It has been a long time since I felt creative and it is a feeling I miss.
I invite you to join me during the preparations and sooner than I’ll likely be prepared for, the journey itself. If nothing else you, the reader, can live vicariously through me and enjoy the folly of a middle-aged man on the ride of his life.