The Luxury of Time
I blame it on the spaghetti Bolognese, or maybe the three glasses of Spanish Rioja I savored while fidgeting with it on my plate. It is not that we didn’t enjoy our lives; we had great jobs, friends, and a multitude of fun things to do every weekend in sunny Southern California. But something was missing. I really could not put my finger on it, but I just felt that our existence was too easy. Too planned. Too, dare I say, normal.
Freedom. It is the spirit that drives us to ride motorcycles, and we attain that feeling in ways as diverse as our choice of machines. Of course, freedom in highly organized societies can become a relative thing. Unless we are riding entirely on private property (and sometimes even then), we are restricted by laws governing our sport. Those on custom cruisers are limited by equipment regulations, sport riders by speed limits and off-roaders by land use restrictions.
Manufacturers generally select premium locations and luxury accommodations when it comes time to introduce their newest addition to their line. We may travel to Monza in Italy, the Baviaanskloof in South Africa, the rain forest of Costa Rica, which is all well and good. Imagine my surprise when Kawasaki took me to the mile marker 11.5 on desolate Arizona state highway 74 in the Sonora Desert, up against the foothills of the Hieroglyphic Mountains. There, circled well-worn travel trailers awaited, which would be home for the duration.