Prologue: “You have everything?”

To think back to the beginning, It wasn’t really that much planning. I had been on backpacking trips before, many times. I had been on Road trips before. And I had spent several days driving. There was really nothing new about this journey for me, except for doing it all at once.

There’s So much to think about, What the weather will be like, distance between showers, what looks cool. It turns out, you don’t need that much. I had a single pair of boots, a tent, a sleeping bag, an mp3 player, cigarettes. I learned pretty early on that less is more, and something compact is favorable. This seems simple, but it changes things you wouldn’t expect. The water bottles i would take were bladders, so they could be compressed when empty. The Road Atlas I chose was small enough to fit in a saddle bag. The Tent I had was the cheapest thing, small enough to fit under the seat. The Sketchbook I had was never big enough for the paintbrushes I brought.

If I had thought about the process more, I would have realized that its mostly sitting. That first year I was just excited to go. Its really just as simple as, “how long am i going to sit on this thing.” So the backpack, the gear, the downtime, all shrunk over time. I wanted to maximize the range.

Some things I brought didn’t make any sense for anyone but me. Adamantly having a Zippo ready, I was an avid smoker for a long time, and the great plains is a windy place. I usually bring a PSP or a Nintendo of some kind, because I got stranded one time and I read the only book I brought the first day. I brought water color paint with me, thinking i could somehow keep the delicate paper safe. I kept these things safer than the cellphone I brought with me. Sometimes these things are for sanity.

That first year, This was the hard part. “What do I bring,” I’d say to myself during the month long panic I had leading up to me leaving. The things I really needed Couldn’t be carried, as sappy as that sounds. Before I Left that first year I should have read the service manual, I should have learned something on how to fix the bike, Other than assuming it worked like a lawnmower (it doesn’t). I really needed to understand the laws of the place I was going. But, I tried, I really did, I sat down and attempt to plan everything out by the hour.

The piece of equipment that has not been mentioned. The most important one. My Honda Ruckus.

Its a 2011 Honda NPS50, and In America we call it a Ruckus. Its a true companion. I could never, and probably wont attempt to, ask more out of a machine. The Gas Mileage was better than expected. It wasn’t as uncomfortable as I thought. It was so small you could put it anywhere without notice, however in the right place, it demanded attention. I could always feel people staring at me one I was on the bike, I couldn’t blame them, the thing was cool as fuck.

The Bike was gift, from my parents, from when I graduated High School. I goofed off on it sure, but from day one I told people I was going to drive it really far one day. It was a joke, mostly. It seemed to get more appealing the more time I spent with the bike. The thing is though, Since I thought I would take it so far, I kept it safe in a garage. I’d start the engine every now and then, but I think I had less than 300 Miles on it before I took it on a Highway. There was brief moment I lost the bike though.

I needed a car on short notice. I was working out of my car, and I needed to drive some friends across the country, and my trusty honda Civic had just blown some kind of gasket. I made choice, one that burned me from the inside. I pawned my scooter. I made a deal with my boss at the time to loan the money to pay for a car, with the scooter as collateral. I Hated every moment he had the bike. He put 400 miles on it, He let his kids drive it, And he was planning on stretching it to look like one of those stupid slammed ruckus’. It was only like 3 months he had it, and I couldn’t stand it.

After some drama, I got the bike back. I had to borrow money again from my family to pay it all back. It was a mess. It was within a week of my planning to leave that I finally got the keys to the bike back. I’m not very good with money unless it involves budgeting for gasoline, anything outside that is out of bounds for me.

I probably would have gotten a different scooter, and done the same thing. But I’m glad I Didn’t. I think the scooter trusted me to get it back, in the same way i trusted it not to break down in the Mojave desert. I owe a great deal to the bike, for better or worse, we made it together.