Like an old friend. Like your best friend.

I’ll pack the road king tomorrow.   I’m making a list right now.    Man, I hope I remember how to do this.    There used to be a time that I had it all sitting in the saddlebags on a wednesday.   Not now.

Thats my motivation.

Tomorrow night, I’m gonna wake up in a place that for all intents and purposes I’ve never been.    In reality, I think I’ve been there 3 or 4 times, the last time being in 1981.    Its nobody’s glory trip if you live up here, but to me, its a ride.

It’s gonna be some cold shit.    32, if the weather channel is right.   I’m kinda finding that the weather channel is about 5 degrees hot every morning.      At least checking the weather is still a habit.    Packing a saddle bag, is not.   not that worried.   I remember pretty fast.

Kind of a tune up trip to me.     Something tells me that this shitty little overnighter is going to stir up something that is gonna change a whole lotta things.      Not because of the destination.   not because of the bike, or the weather, or any of that crap.    Because its the ride.     I’m gonna wake up in a new place, with my bike less than 3 feet away.    man, I can’t wait.    To me, its a helluva adventure, with a little bit of money and some time to explore.

Something tells me the Road King and I after this are gonna be real friends, thick as thieves.    For me, this is how it starts.

Going to Wendover Nevada.   Little town of 1500 and a huge airport where the final assembly of the fat man and little boy bombs happened.    Where the Enola gay took off.    The lady on the phone told me there was an auto tour of the old base, which has since been turned over to the town.   She said a motorcycle was OK.      They saved the Hangar from falling in on itself, but it sounds to me that the funding didn’t go a whole lot past that.      Anytime a little trip to 1945 can happen, I’m in.

Icing on the cake.    I just can’t wait to ride.