I started motorcycling when I was 12 years old, riding a 1965 Honda CT90 in the canyons of San Diego. During this period there was an entertaining television series that ran from 1969 thru 1970 called Then Came Bronson. The show was about a guy (played by Micahel Parks) that traveled across the US on a Harley Sportster aimlessly making his way across the country, stopping and helping folks out along the way for a living and always rescuing the little guy or gal in distress. The romantic notion of touring on a motorcycle entered into many of my childhood dreams.

Several years of riding that CT90 resulted in quite an education in replacing bent rims, broken mirrors and levers, forks and several rebuilds of the carb and top end. Even though helmets were not required in California back in those days my mother insisted I wear one. Her insistence paid off several times as I ruined more than a couple of helmets on the hard canyon trails. I got my license at the age of 16 when my mother blessed me with a Kawasaki 175 Bushwhacker. Indeed, I did whack my share of bushes with this spirited enduro bike. I purchased my first full face helmet, a Bell Star and have never worn anything other than full face helmets since. Ultimately my poor discipline regarding maintenance and my desire to speed shift caught up with me when a bent clutch fork locked up my 175's engine while I was speeding down Interstate 8. I left the bike along side the freeway, hitched a ride home, and came back with my dad's truck just to find that bike had already been taken by someone else.

My father felt my loss and gave me his 1969 Honda CB350  that had been collecting dust in the garage. That was the bike that started me on my long distance riding adventures. Finally, here was a bike that was not only freeway legal, but could go and go and go. I attached a goofy looking sissy bar to the back of the seat and would throw on my backpack and sleeping bag whenever I could, and head for the Southern California mountains. I joined the Air Force and the bike became my primary mode of transportation all over the world for the next four years. I took several trips from Austin Texas to San Diego non-stop, once while riding with a surfboard strapped to its side. Its amazing when I look back at how creative I got with that bike.

There was one winter when I was stationed in Colorado Springs that I had to use it to get to and from work as it was my only transportation. An E-3 back in those days didn't make enough money to finance a car. A machinist friend and I developed a collapsible A-frame that would attach to the frame on each side of the bike. To the bottom of the struts we attached the front section of some snow skis that I had broken. Whenever I had to ride to or from work when there was snow on the streets I would simply deploy the A-frames on each side of the bike allowing the skis to ride a couple of inches off the road surface. If I started slipping the bike would fall to the side, catch a ski and straighten itself out. Then all I had to do was jostle the handlebars a bit to get back to straight-and-level and continue on. Of course, my speeds were extremely slow (pretty much crawling along in second gear) but it kept me from being AWOL. I look back at those times and just shake my head. Today I don't think I could survive that kind of stupidity without ending up in jail or a ditch.

The 350 finally wore out in the summer of '77. I don't know how many miles it had on it. I've never really paid attention to the odometer. But it had to have exceeded 100K. A Honda dealership bought the bike from me for $25.00 for parts. I exited the Air Force at that time, having filled my four year commitment and spent the next couple of years hitch-hiking to and from college. In '79 I rejoined the Air Force and went off to tech-school in Rantoul, Illinois. What was significant about Rantoul? I lived just a few miles from the plant where Vetter designed and manufactured the Windjammer fairing, saddlebags, and tail trunks. My desire to ride was growing again.

I was assigned to George, AFB in the Mojave Desert and immediately began shopping for another bike. I ended up going to San Bernardino and purchasing a brand new 1980 CB750K. I had them fully outfit it with Vetter gear including an AM/FM Cassette stereo system before I picked it up. I was off and riding again! I had to get a new drivers license since I had let my old one expire while in college. I passed the written test with flying colors and was appalled at the practical test. All the examiner did was have me ride to the end of the parking lot and back. I began to be concerned about my fellow riders and their riding skills.

An odd sort of fate stepped in at this time. The motorcyclists at George AFB had been experiencing an extremely high number of fatal accidents and the Wing Commander was seeking action. My squadron commander had gotten used to seeing me ride around on my fully dressed 750 and mistakenly figured I was some kind of expert. He brought up my name at a high level staff meeting and I ended up being called into the Wing Commander's office. He explained to me that he wanted a training program established on base that would require attendance by all of the base personnel that rode motorcycles. He sent me off to Virginia to attend MSF training and to come back with a training program. I spent a couple of months learning how little I knew. But I returned a much better rider and raring to go. I consider the next two years I spent teaching the course as my biggest contribution to motorcycling. Every single accident that happened to one of my "graduates" gnawed at me, so I investigated them with the local police until I learned to adapt local riding conditions into my program. The payoff was very cool. Fatalities dropped to zero. I went to the local DMV and raised heck about their practical exam, but got nowhere. So I teamed up with the local CHP office and received their help in applying a little more pressure. Finally, the DMV adopted the practical course that we used on base as our final exam. Of course, since those lean days California has developed a much more intense motorcycle safety and training stance. I hear people bitch about it all the time, but it is well worth it. I still take my current bike over to the DMV course every once in a while just to show whiners that it can be done if you really know your bike and have practiced the skills.

As I got to know more and more of the riders on base I joined an on-base motorcycle club. We had quite a setup with a club house full of tools and enough garage space to work on several bikes at once. We started sharing smart maintenance techniques and shared modification and accessory ideas with each other. No one needed a lot of money to keep their bike in good condition. Everyone turned a wrench. The president of the club had a GL1000 that was Vetter dressed. I gained the itch for a Goldwing and ended up trading my bike in for a 1980 1100 Interstate. I was now on the long distance dream bike.

Our club participated with a lot of other Southern California bike clubs on their poker runs and rallys. Looking back, it was probably odd seeing us hanging with Hell's Angels Berdoo, The Nuggets, and similar groups. They had their piercings, tattoos, and general bad-boy image they had to uphold, and we were a bunch of clean cut military types. But we never had a problem with them, they never had a problem with us. Most of us were on "rice-burners" and most of them were on Harleys. It just didn't matter, we all rode hard and played hard. I learned a lot about maintenance, repair and customization of motorcycles from the hard core riders. The mutual respect we had for each other was typical of what I still find exists within the family of motorcyclists.

In '85 my father passed away. I was helping my mother get her affairs in order when I found his will hidden in a locked box in the top of a closet. I became extremely emotional when I read that he had left me his '69 Electra Glide with a request that I not sell it, but rather experience it. This was a "Then Came Bronson" moment, sort of. (For those not familiar with the show, in the pilot episode Michael Parks receives his Sportster from a friend that commits suicide.) Since the bike hadn't been ridden in a while I put it in a trailer and hauled it from Seattle to Sacramento. Once home I put in a new battery and cranked her up. All she needed was a little adjustment to the valves, rebuild and resynch the carbs and she was ready to go! I was stunned by the lack of vibration and the silence of the exhaust. I seriously had to look at the tach when I was stopped in traffic just to make sure she was still running. So much for the myth of oil dripping. part dropping Harleys. This bike was meant for miles.

The '69 Electra Glide is a work of art. If you have seen the movie 1973 movie "Electra Glide In Blue" you have seen my '69 Electra Glide. The blue and white paint with the chrome detailing is quite a sight. The California Highway Patrol used this bike for several years. Now most motorcycle enthusiasts know that Harley-Davidson and AMF merged in 1969 and quality took a big hit. But this was one of the last bikes built before the merger so it didn't suffer from the ill-fated business decision. Don't get me wrong, the bike did have its weaknesses. The shovelhead engine, although a long lasting workhouse, constantly needed tinkering and adjustment. Valve adjustment was easy, albeit required much too often. But without the need for modification, this bike was a treat. It was very cool to have the Electra Glide sitting in my garage next to my Goldwing. I would use the Goldwing for the serious long distance rides and the HD for local rides and poker runs.

In '95 I was living in Texas and finally retired from the Air Force. It was time to head west and I couldn't afford to take everything with me. The bikes and I parted ways as I began an 8 year period without a two wheel vehicle of my own. It was like a part of me had gone into hiding. I would drive down roads and always think, "Man, wouldn't this be great on a motorcycle?" I can remember one kayaking trip I took where friends and I were rolling and frolicking in the white water of the Smith river that separates California from Oregon. I kept catching glimpses of a road that wound along side the river, fairly void of traffic. I would catch my self day-dreaming about riding that road. Any kayaker will tell you, day-dreaming means you are going to be spending a lot of time upside down in the water. A friend paddled over and asked me what the heck I was doing. I didn't have the heart to tell him that kayaking was my second choice for hobbies.

My wife and I met in '98 and married in March 2000. As we got our financial feet firmly planted under ourselves I began to talk more and more of my passion for motorcycling. She has always insisted I kept a framed picture of me and my wing on the wall next to all our other pictures. All it did was make me miss motorcycling more and more. But for some reason I'm still not certain about today, my wife was against me owning a motorcycle. She was concerned about my well being, of course, but she had no problem with me rock climbing or kayaking so I'm not sure what her reasoning was all about. But I couldn't keep my love for motorcycling out of our conversations. Somehow this had an affect on her. We gradually began to look at big touring bikes. Quickly we narrowed the desirables down to a BMW K1200LT, a Harley Davidson FLHTCUI, and a Honda GL1800. The BMW was quickly eliminated; too expensive with a relatively small network of supporting dealers. So we kept visiting the HD dealerships and the Honda dealerships. We weren't looking for the best price, we were looking for a bike to spiritually adopt us. My wife leaned toward the Harley since she was enamored with the culture and social aspects of Harley ownership. I was leaning toward the GL1800 for its technology and low maintenance costs.

On one trip to the Harley dealership we sat on a FLHTCUI. We daydreamed about riding it but the passion was not in the ride, but in the destinations we would find. Then we went over to the Honda dealership. I put my arms around the fairing of the Illusion Blue GL1800 and felt it hug back! I can't explain what I mean by that, all I can say is that it was a very emotional feeling as I had my arms around that bike. When we sat on it we again talked about the ride. But the conversation wasn't about the destinations, they were strictly about the ride. My mind was made up, I wanted the GL1800. But I was willing to go with the Harley if that was what my wife really wanted. I just wanted to ride.

On my birthday in 2003 my wife handed me a birthday card. It was accompanied by a brochure for the GL1800. Inside the card she had written, "Ride your dream." A week later I was riding away from the Honda dealership with a brand new Illusion Blue GL1800 under me. I have never ridden a better long distance ride in my life! I'm sure technology and innovation hasn't stopped today, but for the life of me I don't see how anyone could make a better long distance tourer. This bike has it all, and then some. Its got attitude that keeps up with the sport crowd, yet holds you in its protected and comfortable environment. It has all the power I could ever want. Its agility is surprising considering its size. Perhaps it is not the best bike ever made, but it is the best bike ever made for me.

The adventure continues and this saga is far from over. My wife's sense of adventure equals mine and there is not telling where the road will take us. But for now, this road is ridden on a Wing.