The Beginning

In the middle of moving everything from the apartment into storage to prepare for this trip, I came across this picture of me on my first motorcycle. The motorcycle was built by my father, and the picture was taken in front of our house in West Phoenix, in the neighborhood where most of my early childhood memories took place. One of my favorite experiences that occurred here, a few years before this picture was taken, was the time my dad lifted me into our wheelbarrow and ran me from our drive way across the street. I remember laughing uncontrollably, to the point of drooling on myself.

It is in this neighborhood where I first learned how to control and balance my bike, and where I often would have the bike pinned at full speed on the sidewalk and the throttle would stick, leaving me to delegate my next series of movements until I quickly learned the practical thing to do was not to panic, but instead to put all of my weight on the rear brake to slow it down and then shut off the engine. It's been around 14 years since I last had a motorcycle, and I understand that I will face foreign situations while on the road over the next couple of months. I just hope to face them with the same resolve I had while becoming familiar with the mini bike as a kid.

I have to pack to get ready for San Francisco, but as soon as I find the time and place where I don't have to worry about my bike or bags, I will write about my adventures on and off my bike over the last week and a half. Thanks for listening.