the bliss and the blasphemy

The road is never ending. Even if your life is still and your head sleeps against the same pillow every night, your life is constantly in motion heading down the road. You won't see everything you want to see. You won't go everywhere you want to go. You won't always be able to share the experience with everyone you want to. You can whine about it, or enjoy the ride.

I haven't been on my motorcycle for almost three weeks, but my journey didn't end when I got off the pony. I am still out here, rolling away the countless miles and hours. I didn't plan for this trip, but here I am - on the trip. No amount of preplanning can ever really prepare you for a trip. The only reward you get for a job well done is the knowledge that you get to keep on traveling. There are no souvenirs, no scars, and no consequences here, just stories. The road just keeps rolling itself out in front of you.

Two years. Two full long years of my life have gone into this experience. It started with just simple posts filled with outrageous amounts of misspellings, grammatical errors and basic dullness. But it grew and the reading became more and more tolerable. The Danists were few back then, but they were mighty and they kept me involved. If they wanted to read it, then it couldn't be all bad. The readers, it would seem, became the nurturing parent and the writer the needy child. This was enough to feed my ego and it became an addiction. As the Danist nation grew, so did my ego and the addiction. And like all addictions, there was a catch - obligation. I began to feel obligated to the Danist nation to keep this blog going. No matter what. If I was sick, so what. If I was in a foreign country, so what. If I was kidnapped and being held in a computer-free area, so what. Keep the posts comin'! If just a few days went by without a post, I received endless emails, and not "are you okay" emails. Oh no, these were, "Okay, lazy asshole, where is the post?!" emails. Earlier this year I had to step back for a few weeks to deal with an odd health issue that crippled my hands and my brain and instead of concern for my wellbeing, the Danist nation grew impatient and unruly. As a last resort, I called in surrogates and that only enraged them further. It seems that Danists like there Daily-Dan and not a knock-off. I think I got better faster just to appease the Danist nation. You can view this as both a good and bad thing. (I liked the surrogate posts)

I have done. I did it. I am done. It's time for me to move on to other things, which is a nice way of saying that if I am going to spend four or five hours a day writing then I need to get paid for it. I appreciate those of you who stepped up and aided me in my time of financial need and almost convinced me to stay on, but it was asking a lot to beg for the money, I doubt that I can demand money. I can't begin to imagine what that obligation would feel like.

However, to those of you that did pony up when I cried out, I will figure out a way to repay you. For those of you that didn't - get stuffed. Your inability to step up when called upon should show you something about yourself and your relationship to the world around you. For those of you that only use this blog to "keep up with Daniel" in lieu of actually contacting me; I guess this means you'll have to overcome some laziness issues and write me. (stamped mail only - I won't open your emails)

To all of you - the readers, the fans, the Danists, the involved - I do not wish to say goodbye to you. I think I would rather take this chance to say, "Thank you". Thank you for things that I can not express in words. A thanks that is grander in sentiment than you will ever know. This has been a labor of love for me and your involvement, your patience, your tolerance and your sense of humor have sustained me through all of the travel, the addictions, the moves, the lessons, the health issues, and the self-righteousness. No matter what I write in the future or for whom or where, I doubt that I will ever have an audience so greatly assembled and loved.

Before I left for the Invasion of America trip, I wrote a note that was to be published in case of my death. I think it says a lot.

---------

I love you all and continue to do so in many ways that most of you will never truly comprehend. Who I am and what I am will differ for each of you, as this is a truth for all people, so please do not waste your time trying to explain or justify what has passed. I hope that you will take with you the knowledge that this time we spent together has been the greatest honor of my life. It has been my pleasure to have known you and to have been a part of your life.

However things work out, I hope that you see that nothing is ever truly over. If I leave any sort of legacy with you, I hope it is this: I hope that all of you seek out your dreams and live them to within an inch of your own life, for only then will you realize what life is really meant to be. I wish for you only the best that life can be.

"If one advances confidently in the direction of one's dreams, and endeavors to live the life which one has imagined, one will meet with a success unexpected in common hours." - Thoreau

Whenever imagination becomes reality, I am there in spirit.

Yours,
Daniel Rock

invasion of america - the images....4 of 4

These are the forgotten about - confused little photos that made the cut at the last minute. They are in no particular order on this post. I stopped taking photos on the trip after I made it to Reno. I took over 900 photos total for the trip, but I didn't take photos of the Pentagon, Indiana, Maryland, New Jersey, Virginia, Deleware, Ontario, Michigan, Wisconsin, Idaho, Oregon or Minnesota. So enjoy what I have left. If I can find some other worthy shots, I will put them up.

Final post coming in a few days.


Fighting Irish. These are some of the Rennies that didn't want to kiss me. In the background are two very short women that were also fighting. I was pulling for them. REN FEST, KANSAS CITY, KANSAS









Another view of that Kansas Sunset. Hmmmmmm...... KANSAS












Another view from the tower in Kansas. KANSAS












Another view of Penguin Park. Along with the large Penguin there is also an Elephant. MISSOURI
















My house as a teenager. That window just behind the tree was my room. That garage door was my relentless and undefeated Tennis partner... Cause I had no friends. KANSAS










A field. MISSOURI... I think.













Another shot of the cancer bags. I think I posted it already. DC












I thought this was funny. A memorial for Pluto after it was taken off the "real" planets list. SMITHSONIAN, DC
















Oh that sunset. That's the Lincoln Memorial just past the Forrest Gump reflection pond which is just past the foolish looking WWII memorial. DC










Anther view of the torn metal. NEW JERSEY













That funky statue of death in New Jersey. NEW JERSEY.

















My travel companion in New York, Joshua Sankey. This is his moment in Times Square. NYC











The rural New York countryside. Yeah, it looked like this for two full days of riding. I would still be there if I could. It was that perfect. UP STATE NEW YORK










Another perfect view in Upstate New York. NEW YORK












The Sun setting over Lake Superior. MICHIGAN













The Missouri river. I camped at Fort Mandan in North Dakota. This is where Custer spent the last few years of his life. NORTH DAKOTA











Dusk on the Missouri River. I camped twenty yards from this spot. NORTH DAKOTA













First night of camping. The pony at rest. NORTH DAKOTA

















Lolo Pass with a smoke film covering everything. IDAHO












Day one's view when everything looked like food. MOUNTAIN PASS, WASHINGTON












The fire line. This is how close the fire came to the Ponderosa. WASHINGTON












Patricia Winden, Body Tech Bad Ass. SALT LAKE, UTAH












The center stone that is the heart of the Mormon existence. Kill this rock and they all die. Patricia was using it as an ashtray. SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH










Foolishly trying to take a night time photo of the brutal rain storm. Idiot me. Classy joint, eh? UTAH











The rocks of Moab. They look like raw meat in a good photo or in person. MOAB, UTAH












Little Miss Lacey, Tattoo Specialist- Bad Ass. All women should be so cute. LUBBOCK, TEXAS












The same chain link fence memorial that has been up since the Oklahome bombing. Those are the same trinkets and photos. OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA










The side view of the lighted chairs in Oklahoma. OKLAHOMA CITY, OKLAHOMA

Okay. That's it. That's all. I shall answer any questions that you might have and then I will post one last time. Then.... POOF! So get it in gear and let's do this!!!!!

invasion of america - the images....3 of 4

It's not over yet...


The Oklahoma Memorial. Each chair has a name of a victim. The smaller chairs are for the children. Each row is a different floor where the person was located. This memorial is in the exact spot where the building used to stand. DAY TWENTY-SIX, OKLAHOMA CITY, OK








Most of the midwest looks like this: Indiana, Illinios, Missouri, Kansas, Oklahoma and here... Texas. There is no way to capture my view. This is just four square inches of what I saw in complete panorama. DAY TWENTY-EIGHT, RURAL TEXAS








Buddy Holly. Here is the man that gave you rock and roll. Lubbock has Buddy Holly and Natalie Maines as famous Lubbuckians or Lubbocktocks... DAY TWENTY-NINE, LUBBOCK, TEXAS









The F-holes. Ouchy. Ouchy. Ouchy. Oh, aahhh, Eeee, oooohhh. Ouchy. DAY TWENTY-NINE, LUBBOCK, TEXAS











Billy the Kid's famous grave. The legend goes that someone broke in to the cemetery and carved PALS in the tombstone. This PALS was professionally done. It would have taken a bit more than a simple night to do it. AND you would have heard the Dremmel whirling as it carved. Even in death, Billy is upstaging his friends. Perhaps they didn't think much of him, then what? DAY THIRTY, FORT SUMNER, NEW MEXICO




The actual headstone of Billy the Kid. Chained down because people keep stealing it. Odd thing to steal, and somewhat ironic. DAY THIRTY, FORT SUMNER, NEW MEXICO














The Four Corners. Rain kept most people from laying across the center point like most visitors do. DAY THIRTY-ONE, UUUUUUHHHH, THE DESERT.










The actual tiny teeny four corners. Utah actually is creeping a bit into Colorado, but who cares...
DAY THIRTY-ONE, THE DESERT











The vast wet desert. DAY THIRTY-ONE, RURAL UTAH












The rain did allow for some rare sights to be seen in the desert, like this waterfall. DAY THIRTY-ONE, MOAB, UTAH















Self Portrait. A sort of "WOW" look. Rain in the background.. DAY THIRTY-ONE, MOAB, UTAH












The day after the big rain. The creeping winds have brought in a fog that you can see coming into picture. It was a good day. DAY THIRTY-TWO, PRYCE, UTAH










Wounded Pony on her way to the doctor. It was odd riding the pony without gear on it. Very odd.
DAY THIRTY-THREE, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH











Celestial Jesus. The way Jesus would like us to remember him. Floating around in a world that resembles a Sci-Fi book cover. DAY THIRTY-THREE, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH










Adam and Eve. The most accurate depiction ever. Fully clothed, White, and praising indoor lighting. Notice that the hem lines are perfect and modest. DAY THIRTY-THREE, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH









The Prophets of Utah. With J-man; their meal ticket. Who among you is frightened by this photo???? DAY THIRTY-THREE, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH










"This is the Place!" said Bringham Young boldly. This valley leads us home. And the Mormons were filled with joy. Their name tags had been digging into their chests for the last two months and they were ready to be home. (cause the Utah Jazz were playing a home game that day) DAY THIRTY-FOUR, VALLEY, UTAH







I like this shot of me. DAY THIRTY-FOUR, SALT LAKE CITY, UTAH
















Not a great shot, but why not post it anyway....
DAY THIRTY-FOUR, SALT LAKE, UTAH
















Ah, ooooooooo, eeeeeewwwwwww... DAY THIRTY-FOUR, SALT LAKE, UTAH
















The Bonneville salt flats in western Utah. That mountain is twelve miles away. The reflection is a new lake where land speed records are set. DAY THIRTY-FIVE, SPEEDY, UTAH










My tour guide, Denise. She had a thing about licking things. DAY THIRTY-FIVE, YUCK, UTAH
















Ah, Reno! It was completely empty, like a strange video game. DAY THIRTY-FIVE, RENO, NEVADA











Tour guide in her favorite pose. This is the coffee house that is closing down in spite of it's great food. DAY THIRTY-FIVE, RENO, UTAH

One last day a comin'....

invasion of america - the images....2 of 4

Hint: Be specific with your questions...

The WALL OF HOPE which was put up on the mall for cancer survivors. DAY FIFTEEN, CANCER CENTRAL, DC











It's the new century and cancer survivors don't use open flames anymore. Half of this light is glow sticks and the other half is the reflection of the glow sticks off the bald heads in the crowd. DAY FIFTEEN, SEA OF HOPE, DC









One for me and my father. One for Marcus' nephew and all of my other friends that are dealing with cancer. DAY FIFTEEN, DC











The bags filled with cancer sticks. These were placed all around the reflection pool in front of the capital. DAY FIFTEEN, DC











Picture postcard perfect. That's right. IT'S MINE! The house that brought you all of the lovely laws that grace our world today. And where Republicans like to cruise for boys. DAY SIXTEEN, CAPITAL BATHHOUSE, DC














The library of congress. My temple. The building of absolute knowledge. I wasn't allowed to take photos or see everything, but that forces you to see it in person.. Genius. My eyes were too filled with tears to see it all. DAY SIXTEEN, HOUSE OF KNOWLEDGE, DC









THE Magna Carta. Yes, THE Magna Carta. And it's in America so all the good parts have been edited out according to laws of the better Carta called, Homeland security. DAY SIXTEEN, NATIONAL ARCHIVE, DC










The Declaration of Independence. I also took a photo of the Bill of Rights and The Consititution, but who cares about those silly things. Besides, all of these official documents can be easily stolen by Nick Cage so really, how special are they? DAY SIXTEEN, NATIONAL ARCHIVE, DC













This is JFK's grave. That headstone is ten feet by six feet. You have to walk up a huge stone path to see it. This flame and headstone are protected by a small fence.. It's very scenic and powerful. The eternal flame goes out from time to time, but the idea is still the same. Again, JFK.
DAY SIXTEEN, ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETARY, DC













This is Bobby's grave site, JFK's little brother. It's where you go when you have to pee if you're hanging out at JFK's grave. DAY SIXTEEN, ARLINGTON NATIONAL CEMETERY, DC











The crash site in Shanksville, PA. It's being illuminated by my Pony as there is a nasty storm passing by and it stole the moonlight. I was taking in the view and then two bears ran by. So I left. DAY SEVENTEEN, RURAL PENNSLYVANIA









Football Jesus. If you look down at the bottom of the building you will see some doors and a human. Just to give you some perspective. IT'S A BIG FUCKING JESUS! DAY EIGHTEEN, SOUTH BEND, INDIANA









Lover's leap. YES, THE lover's leap. Where two native youths jumped off a cliff to avoid having to live life without each other. So the story goes. That's the mighty Mississippi river in the background. DAY TWENTY, HANNIBAL, MISSOURI








The state of Missouri put up this sign to let you know that a fictional character once painted this fence. We, Missourians are real smart. DAY TWENTY, HANNIBAL, MISSOURI










Mark Twain's childhood home. I adore him. He is everything that I wish I could be, except for the dead part.
DAY TWENTY, HANNIBAL, MISSOURI















This is Mark Twain's Jacket. The one you always see him in. I doubt that it is the real deal, but why not pretend if it makes you feel better. DAY TWENTY, HANNIBAL, MISSOURI














Me and that damn camera just love that setting sun. DAY TWENTY, RURAL HIGHWAY, MISSOURI











These are my grandparents. My grandmother was another one of my heroes. DAY TWENTY-ONE, KNOB NOSTER, MISSOURI











Old Drum. Not one of my heroes, but for everyone that loves dogs, this is the statue of the dog that gave us the phrase, "Man's best friend". DAY TWENTY-ONE, WARRENSBURG, MISSOURI














I was born here.... and then I escaped. DAY TWENTY-ONE, RAYTOWN, MISSOURI












This is where I went to high school. Ronald Reagan once came to visit. They put up a plaque to commemorate the occasion. Then Reagan died and they took it down. DAY TWENTY-TWO, SHAWNEE MISSION, KANSAS









Me on stage in my high school. It feels weird to be on this stage after so many years of gracing other stages. Everything felt weird that day. DAY TWENTY-TWO, SHAWNEE MISSION, KANSAS










Kansas City is known as the city of fountains. I think only Paris or Rome has more. This is a famous fountain that has four horses to represent the four great rivers of the world. DAY TWENTY-THREE, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI









My favorite park when I was young; Penguin Park. Guess why they call it that? It used to be two full acres of wood chips and urine. Now it's clean and safe... It sucks. DAY TWENTY-TWO, KANSAS CITY, MISSOURI









Me, Angie and the very elusive - and un-dead, Adam. We are on top of a tower that used to be surrounded by nothing but a sixty mile view of trees. Today, there are a lot of houses in those trees. And the tower moves a lot more than it should.... for those of us scared of heights. DAY TWENTY-THREE, SHAWNEE MISSION, KANSAS






This view used to be nothing but trees. Now I can see... Rich people! It's a harsh reality that life moves on. Not everything can stay the way you want it to. DAY TWENTY-THREE, SHAWNEE MISSION, KANSAS









I guess I love sunsets because they take me back here - to my youth. This is the view every night. Nowhere else in the world does the sun set like this. It's the only reason that anyone stays here. EVERYDAY IN KANSAS














My first real job. I worked at a few other places before this, but this was the first real job that I got without help from family. I made 3.22 an hour. DAY TWENTY-FOUR, OVERLAND PARK, KANSAS









Da Vinci. A hero of sorts. This is what he would look like if he lived in Kansas, spoke english and was heterosexual. I went to a Renaissance festival -- because I wanted to. My face is covered with kisses from all the rennie whores. I love whores and they love me. I used to be get lucky a lot with rennies and apparently I still could. DAY TWENTY-FOUR, YE OLDEN TIMES, KANSAS





And still more to come......

invasion of america - the images....1 of 4

It isn't really a trip without photos. There are four posts worth and they will come as fast as I can get them up here... Then I have one post of forgotten faces and untold stories to post.. Then I'll answer any questions(get them to me NOW!!!) and then... fin... That's it. The blog is toast. I will leave it up til Daniel Day and then I will pull it down for good.

I tried to keep these in order, but that's tough to do..


The gear on the floor of the perch. The night before. All told, it weighed in at 90 pounds of gear. DAY ONE -EVE THE PERCH, WASHINGTON










One last stop at BMW before we left town. This is the "caio baby" look. DAY ONE, BMW OF FIFE, WASHINGTON











Oh little town of Leavenworth. The folks here like Nazis and weiners so much that they decorated their buildings in honor of all that they were about. DAY ONE
DER LEAVENWORTHSTAAD, WASHINGTON









I got heat for not taking enough photos of me on the last two trips so here I am.. At the Ponderosa for a visit. A little tummy showing there. It's filled with optimism. DAY TWO
PONDEROSA, WASHINGTON














Pose Two. A little easier on the eyes. DAY TWO.
PONDEROSA, WASHINGTON












The great Palouse; a large, seemingly endless amount of farm land. From a distance, I'm looking good. DAY TWO.
TOP OF THE PALOUSE, WASHINGTON-IDAHO BORDER









My traveling mate - Mike Augustini. We rode for the first three days and then he went back to Tacoma. He rode a custom Susuki that needed gas every 80 miles. Fast, loud and purple. DAY TWO. WASHINGTON-IDAHO BORDER














The river of glass. The cool morning in Lolo Pass where the river was so still that it was a perfect mirror. DAY THREE. ROAD OF A THOUSAND CURVES, IDAHO










A view up the river and the road of a thousand curves. We rode this at nearly 80 or 90 most of the way. Not smart, but fun. DAY THREE. SIDE OF THE ROAD OF A THOUSAND CURVES, IDAHO









The endless winds have flattened eastern Montana. They have swept away all hope from mankind's heart. I was ready to quit and go home after I rode in this for hours. DAY FIVE, DESOLATION, MONTANA









The painted desert, or as I like to call it; salvation point. Had this not appeared, I doubt that I would have made it. DAY FIVE, WESTERN NORTH DAKOTA










The sunset over Lake Superior. I found that I like taking pictures of the sunset. Like a self-righteous parent with their only child - I can not stop taking pictures of it. DAY SEVEN, UPPER PENISULA, MICHIGAN









The day I arrived in Montreal, there was a school shooting. This is the building where I performed all week. Across the street is a bunch of empty shell casings and some less-than-pleased Canadians. DAY EIGHT, MONTREAL, CANADA








Montreal on a more peaceful day. The sun is out, the heat is on and the baseball team has left town. Captain Kirk was born and raised here. DAY TEN, MONTREAL SPACE PORT, CANADA










Camping in Up-state New York. I almost started smoking this very day. That campfire drove me to it. Damn camp fire! Thankfully, the lady didn't take cards. DAY TWELVE, NON-SMOKERS PARADISE, NEW YORK









A view down the lane that I camped near. All those lovely trees. DAY THIRTEEN, UPSTATE, NEW YORK












The only reason I went to Cooperstown. George Brett. One of my childhood heroes. If you don't know him, we shouldn't be friends. DAY THIRTEEN, BASEBALL HALL OF FAME, NEW YORK









Orange County Choppers showroom in Montgomery, New York. They build and then they keep, all the bikes. Yeah, I thought they gave them away too. Naw, they keep them. DAY THIRTEEN, GREEDY FIGHTIN CHOPPER WORLD, NEW YORK








I just had to put my bike in front of the shop. Had to. DAY THIRTEEN, MONTGOMERY, NEW YORK.











The Chelsea. This is where Sid killed Nancy. Where Arthur Miller wrote most of his masterpieces. This is the literature hotel that allows junkies... DAY THIRTEEN, NYC










Moi. In Times Square. It looks a lot like Toyko.
DAY THIRTEEN, NYC













View from the top. I didn't know I was scared of heights until this exact moment. DAY THIRTEEN, EMPIRE STATE BUILDING, NYC











Each day, we rode into the city from Jersey on the train. It dropped us here, in the hole that was the World Trade Center. You have to walk out of the pit. Welcome to NYC. DAY FOURTEEN, PIT OF DESPAIR









Nathan's Famous Hot Dogs. The birth of the American Hot Dog. It was awesome. It took an hour to get here and it was bitterly cold when arrived. But yum! DAY FOURTEEN, CONEY ISLAND









The boardwalk at Coney Island used to stretch for miles. Now it's just these five buildings. It wasn't much to see. And to think that the Warriors fought all night just to get back here.
DAY FOURTEEN, WARRIOR'S TURF, NYC









Just in case you were out of practice. They pay a bum to run around and get shot. DAY FOURTEEN, MODERN DAY CIVILIZATION, NYC










The area where the bum gets to run endlessly and get shot by you. DAY FOURTEEN, CONEY ISLAND











It's cheap to have someone shot. DAY FOURTEEN, MOB OUTLET STORE, CONEY ISLAND
















The two ladies that kept taking photos of me on the train back from Coney. The lady on the left is Barbara Leven. Look her up on the web if you wish. They made me famous. DAY FOURTEEN. BELOW BROOKLYN, NYC









The heart and soul of Punk - CBGB's. That stage gave birth to a way of life that lives inside us all. It closed down two weeks later. DAY FOURTEEN, THE PIT, NYC










The famous bathroom at CBGB's. It was never cleaned. Many famous people have peed here; Sid Vicious, David Byrne, Joey Ramone and Alan Jackson (yes the country star)DAY FOURTEEN, GROUND ZERO FOR THE NEXT KILLER VIRUS, NYC














A view from the CBGB's stage... DAY FOURTEEN, THE CELL, NYC












Last indoor shot... It hurts to think that it was run out of town. DAY FOURTEEN, SOME YUPPIES NEW FAVORITE SUSHI RESTAURANT, NYC










The famous CBGB's awning. DAY FOURTEEN, BOWERY STREET, NYC












Parking in New York. Twenty dollars...
....an hour. DAY FOURTEEN, SUCKER CENTRAL, NYC











The man. The myth. The mysterious legend. I love this man. It took me a while to grasp where I was when I read this. DAY FOURTEEN, DEALEY PLAZA, NYC










Not so big on this place, but I took the picture anyway. This is the Dakota, where John Lennon was shot on Daniel Day, 1980. Ever since, his music has graced my birthday. That gold booth is where he was taken and where he muttered his last words. DAY FOURTEEN, THE DAKOTA, UPPER WEST SIDE, NYC







The view of New York from Jersey. It's beautiful isn't it? DAY FOURTEEN, NOT QUITE THE SAME, NEW JERSEY











The oddest statue... ever! A man with his hands tied behind him, stabbed with a bayonet which is poking out of his chest. Look close you can see it. DAY FOURTEEN, ODD, NEW JERSEY










New Jersey's World Trade Center Memorial is made up of materials from the buildings. Check out the bends in the four inch iron I beams. DAY FOURTEEN, 9-11, NEW JERSEY










Again, the sheer power of the event. That's four inch iron that is just sheered in half. DAY FOURTEEN, JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY











They put up a marker that shows what is missing from the sky line. It's beautiful and probably best seen in the day light. DAY FOURTEEN, JERSEY CITY, NEW JERSEY










The Washington Monument. My sunset fetish is in full swing. DAY FIFTEEN, THE MALL, DC
















How patriotic am I!? Eat me. DAY FIFTEEN, THE MALL, DC












The World War Two memorial. It's a piece of shit. But at least they got one up in time for the last nine survivors to see it. DAY FIFTEEN, DAY LATE, DOLLAR SHORT, DC

More on the way.......

invasion of america - french dressing

Final days... Salt Lake City - Home

900 miles

While I was in Kansas City, I was able to eat breakfast with Adam and his entire family. It's every other blue moon that I get to see his mom or his sister, so it was nice to able to join them for a little Ihop feast. I thought I would make the most of the opportunity and get an answer out of Adam's mom about an odd quirk that Adam's had about French dressing ever since I've known him. You see, he is the only person I know that eats the stuff and that alone makes it an odd quirk. If you eat seagulls, then you're quirky - Get it? I doubt that many of you are even aware that there is a salad dressing called, "french". It's generally overlooked not because of it's odd flavor, unappetizing color or putrid smell, but because when most servers are listing all the salad dressing choices of their particular establishment, they will place it between the most popular choice(Ranch) and the coolest named choice(thousand island), thus it disappears in your mind's eye and thus it remains uneaten and unloved. There are millions and millions of uneaten gallons of french dressing sitting in restaurant store rooms all over the world right at this moment. Oceans of it. And the only time that they ever get dusted off is if Adam shows up and eats a salad there. If french dressing tastes better after a bit of aging - say like a fine scotch or cheese, then Adam's taste buds must be in pure ecstacy every time he orders a side salad. The fact that he doesn't eat many salads tells me otherwise.

Adam has always claimed that his family is to blame for his french dressing fetish and until this moment at Ihop I have never been able to confront his family about his obsession.

"I have no idea when or where he started eating french. We never had it in the house, so I have no idea." so sayeth momma Adam.

The answer to my french dressing riddle only got further and further away from me. Perhaps I should have never asked her about it, at least that way I would think that the answer could be simply found. But then again, if you didn't ask, you would never know.....

-----

The train ride was a slow crawl over the Sierras and the high desert into Salt Lake City. I had tons of room in my seat to sprawl out and relax and I made the most of it. The gentle rocking of a train and the accompaning CLICKETY-CLACK of the train on the tracks was very calming for me. There was a tour guide on the train who kept coming over the loud speaker and narrating the view outside the train. I can tell you the altitude and population of every town between Sacramento and Reno, and why each town is named accordingly. I know this, because the tour guide told me so. I tried hard not to listen to him and just enjoy the view without the trivia, but his voice was so hypnotic and after four hours, I began to notice a distinctive facial twitch when his voice DIDN'T come on and explain something as it passed by. Sadly, he departed the train in Reno and the rest of the ride was pure silence. Not like there would have been much for him to tell us about the view from Reno to Salt Lake, but it would have been nice to have him there to break up the monotony. To fill the void left by our disembodied tour guide's voice, Amtrak put on the movie, "The Break Up" in the dining car for everyone to view. Sadly, the magic of Vince Vaughn and Jennifer Aniston's failing romance wasn't enough to make the time pass peacefully. In fact, their plight almost seemed to justify the theory that all good things must end. With the adjunct that when they do, sometimes they leave you in the desolation of Nevada's high desert.

The train was due to arrive in Salt Lake City at 3 AM, I had someone ready to pick me up at this ridiculous hour and a place to sleep for the last 7 hours of my stay in Salt Lake. My ride was true to their word and showed up at 3 AM - sharp, I showed up at 7, long after they had driven home and gone back to bed. Instead of compounding the problem and insuring that I would never get another favor out of Utah again, I decided it would be best not to call and wake up my ride, AGAIN, and have them come get me, AGAIN. Instead I chose to walk to their house (two miles). As I arrived, my friend was up and getting ready to leave for work. We said our goodbyes as we passed each other in a doorway and, again, I felt it was not the best way to say, "thank you" or "goodbye". Strike two for me.

I was back on the bike by 10 AM and it felt like I was on a whole new bike altogether. The seat was softer, the tires were firmer, the engine was peppier and I was sexier. I was informed by BMW that I should take it easy for the first hundred miles and to let everything on the bike get settled in with the new gear. HA! The trip is over. The last 900 miles are right in front of me and I really want to be home. It's over. Jen and Vince had their run and it ended; Burt and Loni had their run and it ended; Now I have finished my run and so to must it end. Don't tell me to prolong the final days.

I raced across southern Idaho with a purpose. I must have been traveling over 90 most of the way. I hit Boise in less than five hours which means I was really putting it down...

550 miles to go.

I hit Oregon and the final crossing into my original time zone. That's when I started to feel like it was over. I started to imagine the homecoming I would receive and how those last five miles were going to feel. I could imagine all of my friends and family standing in a huge crowd in front of the perch, all cheering for me. There would be a banner draped across the building that read, "WELCOME HOME BRAVE ADVENTURER!" I could hear the cheering. I could see the sunshine. I could feel warmth all around me. I could taste the victory.

The sun went down in La Grande, Oregon and immediately the gnats sprang into action and it was as if I was riding through a sea of gnats. They were so thick that I was actually wiping them off of my visor as if they were rain. It slowed me down a bit, but eventually I killed off enough of them that they parted a pathway for me. Even gnats know not to get in someone's way when they're driven. I wondered if being covered head to toe in gnats would ruin my homecoming. I didn't care. I just wanted to be home.

300 miles to go.

I had to spend the night at the Ponderosa. It actually worked out to be a good thing because I was able to say hi to my visiting brother who was home from the war for a few weeks. I arrived late, went to bed early and left early, so our time was short lived. That's really the best way for us. We live in two different worlds and a friendly hi is really all we share. I didn't care. I just wanted to be home.

300 miles to go. (I add miles going to the perch)

It was a chilly day. The final day. The sun was hiding behind the clouds and it would only peak out everyone now and then to tease me with a ray of warmth. The welcome home party in my head had grown larger over-night and now it included everyone from the trip. Everyone that had really made it work out. There was an incredible feast laid out and the mayor was there with a key and a wreath. Several of my ex-girlfriends were there - All crying and begging. Beyond that - an orgy, where everyone that attended had to dress like their favorite movie star. The girl from "Amelie" was waving shyly at me. I gave her my best Fonzi grin. I REALLY wanted to be home.

200 miles to go.

The hills of Washington are incredibly ideal for riding a motorcycle. They curve just enough so that you get to grip the road and feel like a bad ass as you rip around them. The scenery was working well to pep me up and send me home. I could hear the clapping of a million people in the leaves and needles of the trees. The pines were still as dark green as I remembered them and their leafy neighbors were beginning to show their fall best. Brilliant, sharp reds and crisp yellows, all peppered about the great pine forests to give it a deep contrast of distant and grandeur. I don't care. I just want to be home.

100 miles.

Those pesky little grey clouds started to give up their secret. The rains were steady and rudely heavy, but it didn't matter, all it did was make me laugh. I really am home. The mountain pass was really all that stood in my way but I ripped across it like a man who really just wanted to be home and accepting that wreath from the mayor.

30 miles.

The last turn off the highway before the city limits. The small highway that leads me home. It's here that I worked in July as a landscaper to raise money for this trip.

10 miles.

Tacoma city limits. I can smell home. The skies are pouring and it's very chilly. I would imagine that the parade of people are a little miserable but still excited to see me. I can hear the marching band warming up their instruments and practicing different refrains of "Bad to the bone".

1 mile.

The exit that leads to my house. All that's left is just a quick turn and then just straight up the hill, a quick left and I have done it.

1 block.

Stopped at the stop sign and I can see the perch. I can see my parking spot on the sidewalk. I don't see the parade, it must be around the other side of the building in the park. Of course, we wouldn't want to..... ..... .....

There is no banner. No loving crowd. No feast. No orgy. No Amelie. No wreath. No marching band.

I pulled up to my favorite parking spot and I just sat there for a moment on the idling bike. I didn't want to get off right away, I wanted to savor this moment. I was the only one there to welcome me home.

I did it.

I really did it. I didn't die. I didn't wreck. I made it home. I didn't do everything I said or everything I planned to do, but I did do the most important thing; I made it. And I made it without a scratch.

I turned off the bike and the absence of the engine noise allowed the rain drops to beat on my helmet and for a second it sounded like applause. It felt great and I giggled. I unloaded all the gear off of the bike for the last time. I had to wait for my friend to show up with my house keys, and that allowed me to reflect a bit while sitting on the front stoop. I was able to reflect on everything that happened on the way, of all I have seen and done. And the only thing that I can think of in this historic moment is the fact that the last two days of my trip... There was no wind. I rode the last 900 miles without so much as a breath blowing against me. All that way... and only in the last two days did the weather work in my favor. I laughed because I thought that the only reason there was no wind was because the last two days were originally planned for California and Oregon riding and instead I went a different way and I think I through fate for a loop. I think nature was probably beating the shit out of people all over the west coast wondering where I gone. Or, perhaps fate just decided that I had had enough and it was time to just let me go home. I think even fate realized that I had won and for all of its cruel intentions I had earned safe passage back home. Yeah, fate and I made up.

----

Presently I am sitting in a high rise hotel in downtown Edmonton. It's been a week since those last few moments on the stoop out in front of the perch and yet it's still very fresh in my mind. I am still not completely over it yet. I am sitting here slamming away at the keys of my trusty old powerbook and I am whole - or at least I feel whole. I think back on those moments on the stoop and in the days that followed, I can still feel all those swings in emotion that hit me while I was there. Directly after I entered the perch, I crudely unpacked my gear on the floor and just flopped down on my couch and didn't move. Over the next 48 hours, I wouldn't leave the perch for any reason. I wasn't resting, and I didn't need time to reflect - I was regrouping.

On the floor of my apartment was all of the mail that had accumulated over the six weeks of my trip. Surrounding the pile of bills and credit card offers were mounds of gear, clothes and other mementos from my journey. Each item demanded my attention. Each pile needed to be addressed. Each pile had a different tangible world that had to be acknowledged.

I was expecting fanfare and fireworks. I expected a huge banner and a parade. Instead, as coldly as fate could do it, I was reminded that life goes on even for intrepid explorers and adventures. The first man to climb Mt. Everest eventually had to come home and pay his bills and do his laundry. Christopher Columbus had to come home eventually and when he did, I'm sure his garden needed weeding. So you took a six week bike tour - so what! Pay your bills. So you saw some of your friends and family - so what! Laundry is piling up. So you survived 8500 miles on a motorcycle - so what! You have a tour of Canada to prepare for. Life is an adventure when you call it an adventure. This is true for even the moments between discovering new worlds and climbing to the top of them.

I had 48 hours to grieve, celebrate and forget my trip and I was back out on the road.

Like I said, I'm in Edmonton. It seems like the bike trip was a million years ago. It seems like a million years ago when I cared so much about the gas mileage; the weather; the relevance of it all. How easily fate can suck us back into reality when the piper demands his satisfaction.

I sit here looking at a sleepy cold city. My head is so full of great memories and even greater resolves that I can not begin to laugh or cry or scream for fear that none of it could bring me the peace I knew while on that trip. In my brief history I can think of no other moment when I have been so completely content with the world. I believe I have proved nothing to no one and I feel that that was exactly what I needed the most. A trip across the country that takes you violently and peacefully through your past and your present. I was hoping to feel something deeper, but instead I am left with no answers at all. Except that I have lived....

...And I still don't know why Adam eats french dressing.

invasion of america - what's life without a little salt

Day 32 Salt Lake City.

If you ever visit Salt Lake City make sure you view the movie, "SLC Punk" before you go, or at the very least, watch it while you're there. It's a great little indie movie about a bunch of punk rockers in 1980's Salt Lake City. It's very funny, very educational and should improve your visit immensely.

I rented it and watched it first thing. Even though I have seen it a dozen times. I just wanted to freshen up on my SLC knowledge before I went all "tourist" on it.

It's Sunday - God day. And the powerful minority of Salt Lake City - the mormons, are all gathering at their temple to praise the big mormon in the sky... Again(as if he/she hasn't heard it all before). My friend and I have decided to walk all over the Mormon's sacred grounds as tourists just to determine for ourselves if there is any validity to this wacky religion. Before you jump on me for my ungraciousness remember this; they want you to treat God and their religion as a tourist site. IN fact, they give out maps and free tours to all visitors that enter the grounds. It's part of their ploy to increase numbers in their flock, which has been rapidly declining at a rate of 7 percent a year for the past ten years, making it the largest decline of any major "organized" religion in the world. These mormons are desperate to keep their place at the Table of Wacky Beliefs and Half Truths. To make the trip into the mormon compound more relaxing and less "free Kool-aide for everyone-esque" the head mormons give you a nice, sweet, demure... ....saucy, tawdry, completely fuckable tour guide to lead you through Valhalla. She's dressed modestly in a navy blue canvas ensemble that reeks something awful of military conformity, but she wears it well. Only her swollen ankles, bruised forearms(I assume that's from carrying the Book of Mormon around with her everywhere, as they do) and her luscious cleavage are all that you can see of her beneath the blue canvas "chastity belt". The only variance she might have from any of the other stepford wife tour guides wandering around is that her name tag has her name on it with a flag of her origination. They have one girl from every known language walking around, thus making it possible to give a tour to any person that walks in the door, no matter what. No matter which language you get, you'll want to hump her. I could be wrong; it could be the church grounds itself that make you so horny(yes, I love humping in churches. Odd fetish, I know, but hey, who among us is perfect?), but it doesn't help that they give you such a young, supple, delicious little women of faith, to walk you through "paradise". We opted out of the guided tour, deciding instead to take in Jesus on our own terms. This made the staff a little nervous, but I guess they figure that as long as you're on the grounds, then at least they have won half the battle.

The tour of mormon central is a simple and pleasing walk through seven buildings, all kept in a tight little walled off compound, in the heart of downtown Salt Lake City. It's here that the world - according to Mormoni - is centered. Each building represents something totally different to God and his mormons. First; there is the "First Temple" where the first mormons prayed and came up with all those great rules such as wearing name tags with your flag of origination on it, etc. It's also where they house the pipe organ, which is never played. There is the huge, metallic domed temple where the modern day mormons go to worship today. (you can't go in if you're not a mormon. God says.) There are two visitor centers at either entrance of the compound where you can go in and learn about the start of the religion and the go watch Jesus float among the stars and other celestial bodies. There are Adam and Eve displays showing the two in garments that would make the judges on Project Runway proud. Oh yeah, they're both white and mormon(name tags on their animal skin gave it a way). There are the wax statues of all the great Mormon prophets including Moroni himself - who is captured in a moment of study. He sits at a table in his native American hut, writing down the word of god on SOLID GOLD TABLETS. In a later scene, the wax Moroni buries the gold tablets so that Joe Smith can dig them up years later in New York. This place feels a lot like visiting a natural history museum and looking at wax Cro-Magon man make a fire while his wife makes a salad behind him, while a wild boar and a lemur look on.

--It's hard not to lose it here--

There are also films that are being shown all the time. There is one that shows the great migration of mormons across America. It shows their struggle with Indians, Christians, Cornhuskers, wild boars and lazy oxen until finally they are delivered into glorious Utah. "This is the place" proclaims Bringam Young and all the mormons cheer and praise God for the blessing. After a hard fought struggle to reach this fruitful valley, they walk down into the promised land and found that the huge lake which looked so cool and refreshing - was completely worthless and filled with salt. "God has chosen this place as our home". I think God didn't like mormons any more than we do. But mormons are tough and they are not easily deterred. Instead of giving up and moving on to California, they stayed and made the best of it. They humped a lot, built temples everywhere, bought up the majority share of Pepsi and Albertsons stock and became a superpower....

Which does nothing but piss off the 75 percent of the Non-mormon residents of Salt Lake City.

You would think that there would be some sort of balance between the two groups - there isn't. The non-mormons hate the mormons deeply, and the tension here is a lot like the tension that was found in South Africa during apartheid. 25 million black people all waiting for the day that they could rise up and kill the 3 million whiteys that were oppressing them. That day is coming for Salt Lake City. Watch your back Donnie Osmond!

Outside of the Mormons, Salt Lake is beautiful. Beautiful hills, trees, people, houses - it's very nice. Even the lake is nice, albeit stinky from all the salt. The weather was soft and easy and it made touring around looking at everything in the city very delightful. All in all, a great little piece of tourism.

Day 33

Posting. Crying. Sleeping. Not much to report. I needed a day of sloth.

Until later that night!!! PUNK SHOW. It was just what I needed. A good, old fashioned, punk show. Beat up little bar covered with band stickers and filled with punker boys and rockabilly babes. My heart soared. Opening the show was a band out of New Jersey called, State of Revolution(not very original, but punk was never about the names of bands). They put on a great show. The band was missing two of its members that had decided to bug out of the tour and go home, so only the guitar player and the sax player remained to get the word out. They were broke, struggling and doing what they could to keep the spirit of the band alive. It was awesome. They had no choice but to do their set acoustic and they just tore it up. It was by far, the best punk show I have seen in ten years. The other bands were good, but it was the State of Revolution boys that stole my heart. It was a good night.

Day 34

I have to be in Oroville, California by tomorrow night. That's 790 miles away. My ride, which I found on Craigslist, was a young adventurer that just so happened to be passing through. My traveling companion had come straight out of the wilds of Alaska where she spends most the year living out of the back of her pick up truck. She makes a modest living as a wilderness tour guide for rich tourists that come to Alaska to "rough it" and break in their Columbia gear. She also has, at a minimum, a half dozen other careers. She seems to be someone that needs to constantly be doing something. Presently, she is acting as a parcel service for the people of Alaska that have large items that need transporting back to the lower 48. The back of her truck/condo is full of items such as bikes, massage chairs and a large balloon that is used to lift up airplanes.... Yeah, I don't know what that is either. Oh!... And one stranded stand up comic.

It's a hard drive across the highland desert of Nevada. There is nothing to tourist here, except for the Bonneville salt flats where all of the land speed records are set, but that was presently under water from all of the torrential rains of late, so basically - it's just a very shallow, very large lake. Outside of that tourist stop, it's flllllllaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaatttt. Flat. Super flat. My tour guide and I decided to stop and check out Bonneville, but we were only able to go as far as the turn off. From there it was all water. My tour guide decided to lick the ground to taste the salt which I found odd, but she said she licked to lick the ground of places she goes.... ..... It must be an Alaskan thing.

I drove us into Nevada and the tour guide fell fast asleep for the next 500 miles. I was left to gaze out into the barren wasteland of the high desert, in silence, for hours. She did wake up by Reno and there we stopped to take in the contrast of her daily life in the wilds of Alaska, to the sensory orgy overload that is Reno, Nevada by night. It was amazing to see her reaction to the this extreme form of human habitation as compared to her own. We ate at a coffee house which she had visited on a former adventure and sadly we found that it was going out of business soon. It was a tasty little meal(carrot ginger soup) and it was nice to see that there was actually some normal humans living in Reno and not just gambling retards or late night whores. It was a calm moment in my tour and it was amid all the chaos of Reno. We didn't hang out very long - A free room awaited us in Oroville.

Now, tour guide and I barely know each other and even if we did know each other better, it's still hard to spend time in a hotel room with someone when you're not sure where the "intentions" lines are drawn. I'm sure this is much harder for women than it is for men, but still. That uneasy feeling can prevent you from sleeping well. I could be mistaken; tour guide could have just preferred the back of her truck to a hotel room. I mean, she had spent seven months back there. It was tough to convince her not to sleep in the truck and to just sleep on the floor, but she finally relented and we both passed out around 2 AM.

Day 35

Show day. The tour guide was feeling a little pent up and needed to get out into the natural world a bit. Neither of us know the area very well, but we both know Chico, California from previous visits, so we opted to spend the day there. It was just a few miles up the road but a million miles away culturally from Oroville(which is to say; there is a coffee house and a college and no casino). When we got to town, she went her way and I went mine with the plan of meeting up a few hours later.

Tour guide ran off to see the world her way and I hope she had a good time. I was just too numb from all my previous tourism to care. I was broke. I was emotionally drained. So I decided to spend my time walking around in the heavy heat and just window shop. Somehow I crawled into a comic book shop and just immersed myself into comic book porn for two hours. I don't know how that happened.

The show... was a show. But it paid and money is good.

Day 36

We were racing as fast as we could to get to the Sacramento train station by 11:15 so I could catch the train back to Salt Lake City. We were thirty miles away with only twenty minutes to go and I just knew I wasn't going to make it. That would mean I was going to have to spend more money than I could spare to get back to Salt Lake City by alternate means. There was an air of desperation in the truck and so the conversation between the tour guide and myself was a bit short. By the time I rolled into the train station, it was 11:25. However, I could see that there was a train still sitting on the tracks and I jumped out of the truck to see if I could make the train and indeed I did. Sadly, in my rush to catch the train, I never said goodbye, thank you or anything else to tour guide. I just left her sitting in the truck in the parking lot.

I felt terrible about the way this portion of my trip ended. Without my tour guide I would have never made it across the great desert or the dangerous Sierras. The same dangerous Sierras that claimed the lives of rather tasty Donner party. It was due to my tour guide that I was able to get on a train back to Salt Lake City and to my faithful steed. It was due to my tour guide that I was able to see a different way across the country that I could have never planned for in a million years. When you try to control the world around you, the world trips you up and forces you to find another way. It's in these times that it's good to have a tour guide to show the way. It wasn't the wild, bear infested outback of Alaska, or even the blinding blizzard that wreaked havoc on the Donner party, but it was enough for me to realize that a guiding hand was needed. I needed someone to show me the way home. I knew all of this before I ran out of the truck and I should have said something to her before I left.

I am two days of riding away from home.