My apologies that it's taken me a few days to get this one done. Writing here at home is much more difficult than writing while Out There. I'm finding it very challenging to concentrate. There are a steady stream of interruptions and the din of my machines is distracting, but I try. Once I finish this one, I will write at least one more article about this improbably successful 2010 Deadhorse trip. 

Since my time with Rachel, I've been thinking back to the vastly different people I had met during this trip and how, more often than not, each acted as an ambassador from a different world, a world I would never have been able to peer into without their kindness and understanding. I think of the pipeliners, truckers and oil rig workers. I think of an advocate for environmental capitalism. I think of Ted and Sarah at Dancing Rabbit who helped set this theme of challenging comfort zones and being better a man for it.

Back to a time when I was still on the road, I packed up my gear and after a couple of illegal U-turns found myself sitting in a diner at a window sipping brown colored water. I had gotten up early and I was not expected at Rachel's until well after noon. I had not spent any significant time with her in over 17 years and it got me to thinking more about the distant past than at any time during this trip.

"I have not always been so open.", I contemplated. "What I would have missed on this trip if I was still like I was back then." I could remember back to a time, long ago, when I was much more inflexible and exclusionary and so much less accepting of ways of living life different than my own. Mine was the right way. The only way. I thought back to that time and the experiences I had with different walks of life and how often such events would go very badly, how often I would be hurt or hear stories of hurt. That inflexibility was just fear manifested. 

"But it only takes one.", I reminded myself. I understood one saving grace I have is that all I need is an ambassador, someone to take me under their wing to make an unfamiliar world understandable. Those ambassadors, if they are patient, can make you see a different world clearly and understand it in it's own context. Ted and Sarah did that. Phil did that. Robyn did that. When you are fortunate enough to be open to such an ambassador, you can conquer your fear of the unknown and the harsh judgements that are cowardly used to mask it. I have known a number of key ambassadors in my life and I am such a better man for it. I have seen into Worlds and been accepted in contexts that I would never have thought possible. But it took a first one. It took someone exceptional to make me understand that that's all you need. With a compassionate ambassador, even people from the most incompatible worlds can find common ground and become meaningful parts of each others lives.

That first ambassador was Rachel.

In 1992, shortly after I bought my BMW K100RS and just before the last cross country trip that I affectionately refer to as the Failed Alaska Hell Ride, I went to a university party with some friends. I didn't like going to parties back in those days. Burdened by introversion and toxic beliefs, I would generally hang around those I knew or politely stand alone somewhere out of the way watching the goings on from a distance lost in my own thoughts. If I was fortunate enough to talk to someone new it was always because a close friend had gone way out of their way to make an introduction. This party, however, was the one exception. On this day I met Rachel.

"The sound of the German language scares me", I overheard her say. It was not the first time I had heard someone say something like that. It never goes well so I never say anything. This time, however, I did and it started a long and very enjoyable conversation.

English is my second language. Despite being born in the States, I was born a German citizen and was raised to "move back" to that country. My childhood was filled with it's language, culture, fairy tales, philosophy, literature, structure, food and world view. I was intentionally isolated from American society so I would aclimate better when we moved back, my mother believing the old mans lies and telling me for years that Ahausen, Germany was home and that we were just visiting here. To this day, despite having spent less than five months there in total, Ahausen looks and feels more like home to me than anyplace else on Earth. I have always been closer and had more in common with my aunt, uncle and cousins there than anyone else in my so called family other than my sister. Growing up it was always my sanctuary. Bad Things never happened to me there.  As a kid, it was the only place I ever felt wanted. In my core, I am still more North German than American and I can be somewhat of an intolerable Germanophile.

Rachel is Jewish. She is fully immersed in that culture, religion, world view and history. It has touched every aspect of her life including her professional choices, her studies, her travels, what she eats and how, what days she engages in what activities, the places she lives and the communities she involves herself with. But very much like Ted and Sarah at Dancing Rabbit, she has a depth of compassion, a humility and an understanding that hers is a different life than many and is not the only life. She gracefully makes her world accessible to Outsiders in a way I have never seen done with more kindness and understanding.

Inconceivably, we became instant friends.

We talked for hours eventually moving onto the topic of my impending motorcycle journey to try to reach the Arctic Circle with three friends, one of whom was Duncan. Completely out of character for me and not thinking that anyone would possibly take me up on such an offer, I said late that evening, "You should fly out to the West coast and join me for a week of motorcycle camping. We could go riding through the Big Trees."

And so she did.

(1992 Outside San Francisco)

Rachel has the distinction of doing more miles as a passenger on my bike than all other passengers I've had over all the years I've been riding combined. Then again, since the days she was riding with me, I have had very few passengers.

We rode from San Diego all the way up north of San Francisco, on the way camping under Big Trees and going on long walks. We did longer days two up than any day on this current trip. How we managed to get all of my gear and hers packed on that bike and have it look as clean as it did I'll never remember.

It was a beautiful time filled with conversation, dark humor and stories. She brought color and life into what had been an overwhelmingly gray, dead and painful existence. It did not take long for me to become addicted to her company. Never before and only once since has someone gotten inside me that quickly with such great effect. Both times involved a long painful motorcycle journey. Maybe there is a pattern here.

But in a way similar to my time with Angela, with Rachel there were unspoken yet completely understood Boundaries and Constraints. But these boundaries and constraints were what gave us the freedom to become very very close friends and it did me a world of good. Without them, I don't think either one of us would have had the time together that we did.

During that time in California I learned two things, one from an Uncle and one from my sister, that the Nightmare around me had been so much worse than anything I could ever have imagined or believed. It devastated me destroying the foundation of my world forever changing me.

Rachel, with her kindness, compassion, acceptance and infectious beautiful smile, was a reservoir of strength for me then, but I never told her that. I think maybe it was that contrast, that kindness, that made me see how closed I had been.

In an effort to show her my appreciation, I did everything in my power to make sure she had a good time.

For the remainder of that year, we spent a ridiculous amount of time together. There were a few smaller bike trips. There were also concerts.

She may look like all sweetness and light with that incredible smile but make no mistake, Rachel was a heavy metal headbanger with an unbelievable ability to win near front row tickets to any concert she wanted. I went to more concerts that year than all other years combined.  Metallica's "Nothing else matters" seemed to be the theme song of that time for us, but also held that foreboding of an end and a goodbye.

"I move through lives.", she would tell me. In some ways a weekend I had not too long ago echoed thoughts from '92. I remember fearing the implications of that statement.

Around Rachel there is the ever present sense of a world that is so deeply inside her and one into which no Outsider can ever venture too far. I always sensed in her an unspoken internal conflict about the exclusionary nature of her world. Exclusion seems so against her nature.

She did her best to explain her world and I was always so impressed how she was able to get to the core human values behind a given thing whether it be a ritual, a story or some, as I called them, "silly rule". Without prejudice and without any sense that her way was any better or worse than any other way, she presented her world and life in such a way that the listener could experience the beauty beneath it all as if the only goal was to show what she saw and felt. She was one of the most intensely spiritual people I have ever met, but spiritual in a substantative approachable way, not a flaky one. Life in the presence of Rachel was simply Better.

My time with Rachel all those years ago changed me. Where before I had been very closed minded with a strong indoctrinated belief that mine was the "right way", after that time I was much more open, in a way like her, to accept other ways of being. I think of other Important People that are now part of my life who live even more radically different lives than even Rachel does. I think of Stacie and wonder if I would have been open enough to accept her if I had never met Rachel. I shudder to think how much poorer a man I would be, how destitute, if I had through closed mindedness excluded her from my life.

Jumping in time to just a few days ago, Stacie came to the welcome home party. We played pool, as we often do, and it was such a good time. She left a present for me in my kitchen which I found on my return. Back when there was a shootout on my street she was the first to call, in a panic, to see if I was ok. Stacie is one of the most important people in my life and few understand. She is simply beautiful with a strength, solidity and zen like calm that inspires all those who know her. Our friendship is deep and very unusual with the kinds of absolute Boundaries that can never be crossed. Stacie is not attracted to men and as I often joke from my own selfish perspective "it's a crying shame". I absolutely think the world of her. But I digress as usual.

Back to years ago, my time with Rachel came to an end and as I have figured out on this trip, I do not deal well with endings. She went off into her world and shortly thereafter my Nightmare began in earnest. The old man was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer and was dead within 6 weeks. The hell he left for us and that was unleashed afterwards was something I, nor anyone else, could not have ever foreseen.

I crossed paths with Rachel once some time later but it was during a very bad time. Everything was different and I was unable to bring the kind of presence she had come to enjoy. We parted company would not see each other again for nearly 17 years. 

In the intervening years I kept a photo of her on my wall and the candle holder she gave me has been a fixture in my living room. I never forgot what she taught me.

Some time ago thinking about her as I often do, on a whim, I checked to see if she was on Facebook. She was and to my surprise accepted the friend request. We met for lunch at one point and when she heard about my epic ride to Deadhorse she wanted to join me for a leg of the trip. I was so excited to have her be part it. It just felt right. Unfortunately, life got in the way and the scheduling didn't work out. Bummer.

But as it happened, the stars did align somewhat and I was able to visit her as the very last stop on my epic journey. There's a nice symmetry to it. Since the events of Prince George, I thought I had learned everything I needed to. With each passing day I have been proven so very wrong. My time with Rachel during this very last moment on my trip was no exception.

I finished yet another cup of brown colored water, got back on my bike and rode off into the heat and humidity, a thunderstorm threatening in the distance.

The ride was uneventful but filled with endless traffic and lights. Philadelphia is an old city with lots of stone construction. Much of it is impressive.

I rode through a funky little section of town with shops, cafes and nice restaurants. The street was cobblestone.

It took me a while longer to get to her place than I had planned. Since my lying bitch of a GPS had died, I had to memorize the route, which wasn't a problem however quite a number of streets in this area seem to be missing street signs. Combine this with slow city streets, the outdoor air temperature and the fact that the bike is running hot due to the new exhaust causing the radiator fan to run non stop and bake me slowly, I was pretty well cooked.

I arrived well done.

Self conscious about my toxic Transit Suit I texted her to let her know I had arrived. Out she walked and gave me a huge hug not complaining in the least.

I followed her on the bike to a spot in the parking garage where I could safely leave the bike. I was relieved because I had been having some concerns about leaving the bike on the street in this urban setting. I pulled off  the gear and we walked into the old condo building. It had that style of elevator from the earlier part of the century that you see in movies. It has an outer door that you pull by hand and an inner grating that is also moved, manually, out of the way. I have to admit it does not inspire alot of confidence.

"I wonder what safety features this elevator doesn't have.", I joked. "It has the inspection certificate.", she replied laughing both of us understanding that it may not mean much.

She had told me that I would be staying in the Opium Den. "You'll understand when you get here.", she had texted me.

"Yup, that's pretty much what I had imagined.", I thought as I put my gear down. The guest room was decorated in a way that was just oh so Rachel. Her condo is large and may be nearly as large as my small house.

Themes of community and cooperation come through in virtually all of Rachel's stories.

The reason she could not join me on the trip was a planned three month sabbatical back to Israel. She had set up a house swap with a six member family. Unfortunately, last minute developments at work conspired to prevent her from taking her sabbatical, so she and six house guests shared her apartment for five weeks.

They had just left a few days before I arrived. Where as I think most people would complain about the inconvenience and stress of a situation like that, Rachel with a big smile seemed to be able to see the humor in and present it from a perspective that makes the listener think, despite the stress and work, that it was a rewarding experience.

"It must be really hard to have come back here after they all left.", I commented thinking about the empty house I was going to be returning to the next day.

"It doesn't bother me. Endings don't bother me because I've done it so often. There's always something next.", she said.

"Next.", I thought thinking back to other conversations.

After many glasses of water and chatting for quite a while, I asked to take a shower so I could change out of my Toxic Suit. Putting on clean clothes, jeans and the tennis shoes Phil gave me was a welcome change.

Rachel had a few things to take care of so I walked about the apartment and laughed aloud as I came upon a cactus, the first cactus of the trip.

She walked in and asked why I was laughing, "There's something I have to do before I leave and it involves that cactus."

"I am so not going to ask!", she replied with a huge smile that screamed WTF?

She had some errands to run and there was a wooded park with trails nearby. As we got into the elevator with the manual doors I explained that when I first started this trip I was concerned it would be very lonely so I thought that I should have some tasks with which to pass the time. A rather attractive and very interesting bartender friend of mine, Claudia, gave me a small bottle and, as a completely arbitrary task, asked me to bring her back the sand from around a cactus. "I like cacti", Claudia had said. I had just the previous day confessed to Claudia that I had encountered no cacti on this trip.

Rachel looked at me skeptically. Unfortunately, when we got back I forgot.

We went to a nearby nice coffee shop. I seemed like she would run into groups of people she knew where ever we went. "One of the downsides of living in this community and having the job that I do is that everyone knows me.", she said. "Yea, but it's more than that. You have a way of drawing people to you. When you look at someone you make them feel like they are the most important person in the world and it's addictive.", I replied. She told a story of a woman she knows who can do the same thing even with groups of people each person feeling like they are the most important.

We drove down to the park. The feel of the park was not unlike the PA Grand Canyon. It was deeply wooded with trails carved along a ravine. A large stream flowed below.

Despite the threatening rain we walked along the path for some time as I remembered what I had thought just the previous day walking in the canyon. "So here I am walking in the woods with Rachel", I thought and mentioned to her the 1500 foot canyon. "I would have been dead and unhappy", she commented about going to the canyon. "Oh, you would have been fine.", to which I got another skeptical look.

We sat on a boulder next to the stream and talked for some time. I kept thinking that when I walk through my life I need to take notes. There are so many stories, so many insights that fall by the wayside and are forgotten that really should not be.

Work interjected itself into her life as her cellphone rang. She's the executive director at a nearby synagogue and there's an upheaval going on. It's been a stressful job for her and strangely has involved dealing with difficult problems in commercial real-estate, so we had a lot to talk about on that front as well.

As it started to rain we walked back to the car. On the way we encountered a crazy bird that repeated flew right next to her head but she was still busy on the phone.

The bird seemed upset and would fly loops around us.

We got back to the car as we noticed a couple of gang banger looking guys hovering around the car. You could see the fear on her face. "We have a big problem here with car theft.", she said. She had explained earlier that her choice of apartment was also in part to mitigate fear. "So I don't have to worry.", she said.

I explained how I've realized that kind of fear isn't good for me. It gets inside.

We got into the car without incident. My feeling was the the two guys were scoping out the car next to hers but they didn't seem all that threatening.

"Do you want to see where I work?", she asked. "You'll be able to see what I've been talking about."

"Most definitely!", I said. So off to the Germantown Jewish Center we went.

Not too terribly long ago this building burned. I got the impression it was arson. Rachel was front and center in managing the aftermath of the disaster, making sure that the congregation had continuity and felt taken care of and, if that wasn't enough, managed the reconstruction, the insurance, everything. It was a huge job. "But because of the insurance I had a budget.", she commented. It was because of this experience she could understand how I felt during the more practical parts of my Nightmare. "I hate the sound of phones ringing late at night because the alarm at the building has gone off.", I would say as she would nod knowingly. She's been there. She gets it.

"Is it going to be ok for me to go in there? I mean is any going to mind?", I asked tentatively remembering stories from decades ago. "Sure, no problem.", she said.

As we walked in the front door she said, "After the fire, I had this mural commissioned. I wanted to add some color and a sense of life."

We walked into a room I believe called the Sanctuary which had been devasted by a broken water pipe from a floor above. She talked about all the challenges involved in putting the room back together again.

"Dealing with contractors typically sucks.", I said. "Tell me about it.", she replied.

We walked around the building and she showed me various areas that had been repaired or rebuilt. "I don't yet know what I feel here, but I feel something that I can't yet put into words.", I commented.

Because of my time with her all those years ago and the fact that I was in this building in her presence, I felt welcomed, but in a way not that unlike my time spent on secure military bases. On those bases, you want to make sure the MP's see your escort first otherwise Bad Things can happen.

Each wall hanging, each fixture here, had some significance and a tie in to stories of a very different people from long ago. Strangely, it did not all seem as alien as I think it probably could have largely because she is such a good ambassador.

"Do you want to see my office?", she asked. "Of course. I want to see everything.", I said thinking that I wanted to understand more about the parts of her life that are inaccessible to me.

"It looks very officially office like.", I said.

"I had one person ask me if I was a follower of the Occult.", she commented laughing. Look at her office and you'll notice the Ouiji board mouse pad, the gargoyle and the Lochness monster. That is just so her.

I've always liked Rachel. She has this compelling dark but very funny side that has always drawn me to her.

"I've been doing paper cutting.", she said as she pointed to one of her works of art.

Intricately beautiful.

As we left the building she pointed to a list of names carved into the wall. "With the Rabbi leaving, I had to get a contractor to add the new name when I realized my name will never be up there. Despite how much I've sacrificed and how much I've given for this place at the end of the day it's still just a job", she said.

"I've seen that so many times and it's happened to me too. If you let it, a job can start having meanings that it shouldn't. It can start bleeding over into Life.", I replied thinking of the Dalton Highway and the guys who crash up there because it starts to mean something to them that it's not.

We went out for dinner and drinks that evening in that funky cobblestoned streets area. As we walked around I said, "You know, I think I understand what it is that I feel. I felt this before too.", I said. "Really?", she said.

"Walking through those halls, seeing your place and listening to the stories I feel that there is just such a huge part of your life, your world, you, that I can never be part of. It's as if the you I experience is just one small sliver.", I explained and she seemed strangely saddened by this. I went on to talk about incompatible lives and how, at this age, with lives as well defined it's amazing anyone makes new friends or establishes new relationships. "At this age, for two people to get together one or the others life would have to be destroyed and in need of reforming. I guess if I'm ever going to get together with anyone it would probably be at this time with my life fractured in pieces.", I commented. I forget exactly what she said to this, something to the effect of having someone else take the pieces and make something out of them. I remember thinking it was a nice comment.

We talked until very late, the day over before it began.

"I'm sorry the time was so short.", she said the next morning. I echoed the sentiment. "I don't do well with goodbyes.", I replied.

She got ready for work. I put on my Toxic Suit, grabbed my gear and we headed down to the parking garage. Before I knew it my time with Rachel was over.

It is so easy to exclude. It's is so easy to rigidly hold on to the belief that one or the other way to live is the Only Way, the Right Way. It is so easy to put up barriers and shut people out who could contribute so much to a life, turning it into a Life. 

Rachel reminded me of things she had taught me ages ago. Even the most foreign of worlds can, with a bit of compassion, become less so. Similar to choosing to feel the emotional impact of the rainbow instead of the storm, choose to see and feel the familiar in other human beings, not the alien, no matter who they are.

However, it's easier said than done, especially when there is serious pain involved. Oftentimes the pain is too great. I think about walking in Rachel's world encountering members of her community my mothers age. How clearly would they be able to see me or would the pain of inconceivable Horrors from the past mask any compassion they might have for this displaced German? I think about certain communities that I still cannot bring myself to accept because of how some of their members behaved when Gesa died ... I still feel the hatred ... but in time I'm sure I will. At least, now I know I have to try.

Looking back now and with new eyes, this story, this epic journey, would have just been another insignificant trip by motorcycle without much value if I had continued being a coward looking for only those who saw the world as I saw it. The calculated risks I took along the way to be open and step into uncomfortable new worlds has allowed me to learn how to See and Think differently.

Now I Feel differently. Everything has changed.

My journey came to an end yesterday. Far too quickly the memories, the calm and the focus from the road are fading. Words are already becoming far more difficult to craft. Was it all just a dream?

Rolling up to my house, I paid careful attention to my initial reactions, my first feelings. In ways, it's nicer here than I remember. In other ways, it's some of the ugliest scenery of the whole trip. Walking into the house, the din from the racks of servers I manage there was very disquieting. Stress. There is so much stuff everywhere.

I've come to understand very quickly that I am more affected by my surroundings, by my environment, than I would ever have allowed myself to accept. My old man always considered that weak, so I learned to deny this fact about myself. I walk through the house thinking about the man who was imprisoned here for so many years. Poor bastard.

I couldn't think with the din of those machines, so I'm now sitting at my Starbucks in College Park. There are familiar faces here, Thanh and Jonathan, who welcomed me back with big smiles. Yun, a good friend who helped watch for things while i was gone and who detailed my car, just arrived. He's a very good guy.

Back three days which already seems much longer ago ...

After an early breakfast I donned my odiferous leathers, packed up my gear which by this point has become a well practiced motion and continued on my way in the heat along Route 6. Crossing a bridge, I came upon a scene that captures how I see Pennsylvania.

Very green. Hills. Small quaint towns situated inbetween trees and not the other way around.

It was hot and the traffic was still ever present. I cooked in the heat.

Traffic let up a bit a few miles on and I started making good time. The geriatric drivers doing 10mph under the speed limit were no where to be found. The breeze felt good.

I clicked off the 50 miles to Wellsboro in no time flat.

I was pretty well cooked and bathed in sweat. In addition I needed to get gas so I stopped at a gas station, grabbed a couple huge bottles of water. Looking up, there were interesting clouds overhead.

At this point I was only a few miles from the so called Eastern Grand Canyon. There is an observation tower on the edge of the canyon from which you are supposed to be able to see 100 miles out. My intention had been to go see this but I missed the exit and found myself in one of the state parks around the canyon. After all the incredible landscapes and beautiful scenery I have seen while Out There, this seemed more like a small ditch. Then again, for the East Coast with all it's gentle slopes this is a huge canyon. Calling it a "Grand Canyon" is overstated, but it is nevertheless beautiful and worth the trip. The lower elevation and the fact that it's a lower latitude East Coast feature means that the vegetation is different. There's little that beats the kind of dark lush impenetrable forests we have here.

Meandering about the park in the heat and being eyed suspiciously by young children as they scurried about I came upon a trail head.

It's 90+ degrees outside with something like 1000% humidity so my former genius leather clad self thought, "Hehehe. I remember Telluride. 'Note to self, down is harder than up'. I'll do down first.". Of course, I failed to take into account that down is harder than up only a motorcycle.

For some reason, the option of not going down the path never really dawned on me. 

I did, however, have the foresight to ask a very nice shop keeper whether I could drop off my helmet and jacket for safe keeping. He very nicely agreed to hold on to them for me.

So my odiferous leather pant clad self started the easy stroll down hill. I found myself wondering, not really knowing, "At what point does a stroll turn into a hike?". I still don't really know. I figure if you don't have a backpack filled with survival supplies, it's probably a stroll and not a hike.

The environment here really is gorgeous. The canyon walls are steep with what I guess is slate rock sticking out in places. Trees can be seen eeking out a precarious existence on the outcrops.

I happened on some other park visitors and offered to take a photo of the whole lot of them. They returned the favor.

"Unlike getting eaten by grizzly, getting crushed by boulders is thankfully not on the list of disallowed activities, so I can have some fun.", I thought chuckling.

It was pretty hot and I had figured out that if I unzip the transit suit pants a bit around the ankles it was much cooler. My legs were started to hurt and tremble a bit.

There had been a lack of rain in this area so the waterfalls were a mere trickle. The slate strata made for an interesting stepped effect.

The path continued it's slow descent. As I strolled through these woods I found myself remembering how much I like walking in the woods. "A requirement! If I ever have another girlfriend", I thought chuckling artificially trying a new thought pattern on for size, "she's gonna have to like walking in the woods with me." 

Requirements. I've always been loathe to think about "requirements" when it comes to human beings. So many people I know "shop" for significant others, friends or other connections, the way they shop for a car. They have a check list. I guess those are the kind of people for whom dating sites work. I am not one of those people.

I'm just not someone that thinks about "requirements" when it comes to human beings. This is not just when thinking about romantic entanglements but also just in terms of the kinds of people in general.

Being open, being flexible, being willing to defer opinion and just accept regardless of how uncomfortable it is has been such a powerful part of what I've tried to learn while Out There. I never imagined I could meet and get along with so many radically different people with backgrounds and viewpoints so far removed from my own. Many times I've had to stray far outside of my comfort zone and stretch the limits of what I think is acceptable. I've even broken some of my most core Artificial Rules and now I Feel differently.

But if I had kept to my artificial "requirements", I would never have had these experiences nor would I have learned what I so desperately needed to. There's a lesson in here somewhere and maybe not just for me.

There is, however, a fine balance. There are still many things I won't accept or tolerate, but there are fewer of them than before and they are more along my true core values as opposed to my fear of consequences. 

"I really like walking in the woods.", I would think pondering the state of my life.

In places the walls of the canyon were impressively steep.

I made it to the canyon floor.

So beautiful, but hot so very hot. I was pretty much cooked by the time I got here.

I walked down to the river.

It's a canyon like so many others I've seen, just much greener.

It was at this point I began to curse my former self. My former self had decided it was a good idea to stroll down 1500 feet. My current self now had to suffer the consequences of this ill-begotten choice.

Did I mention the steps? A little girl who passed told me that there were 263 steps. Did I mention I was wearing leathers? I unzipped the sides of the leathers even more in a vane attempt to cool down.

I climbed back up pouring sweat and getting hotter and hotter. At one point, I decided to take a short cut and scramble up vertically for a bit. I was completely wiped out by the time I reached the top. Unfortunately, there were bacteria warnings on all the water fountains so there was precious little water to drink and I had no change for the machines.

My thought had been to leave quickly but I was in no shape to ride. I had a little bit of water on the bike which I went to get. A couple with whom I had crossed paths on the way down greeted me in the parking lot. "I can't believe you're already up here. You must have been really moving!", the woman exclaimed. "I guess I went down and up in 1:15.".

Maybe I had been moving too quickly. Her husband, Jay, is a electronics engineer and designs computer circuitry.

"I've been programming for about 35 years now.", I said to which  she commented, "Oh, you two will have alot to talk about. I think I'll go sit in the shade".

"I started out at the age of 7 learning the machine language instruction set of the Texas Instruments SC/MP processor.", I said which really got his attention. He was an old school engineer who was in the industry as well back in the day. Very few people my age go that far back.

We talked a bit about my trip. I mentioned Camp Coldfoot without mentioning the Dalton Highway. He had been following the Ice Road Truckers show so immediately knew quite a bit about the area. He talked about his wife and how good she had been in getting him to slow down a bit. "At this age I'm only doing about 55 hours a week. I used to think nothing of working 80, 90 or even 100 hours a week.", he said. This is all too common in the computer industry. Since all we do is sit around in front of a keyboard few outsiders understand that it's work and takes effort.

I too have done far too many stretches of months and months on end of 80, 90 and 100 hour weeks. For what?

"With all those hours I've spent in this technical and somewhat exclusive domain, it leaves me with little to talk about. How many people are out there that are actually going to care about stories of developing software? In the end, it's the times that you lived that give you the stories to tell", I said. "Exactly.", he replied.

We talked about money for a while, about generational differences, about senses of entitlement.

In some ways I found myself thinking that what I've been doing is very scary. I've put any and all sense of obligation, duty and work on hold. I realized since I was 7 years old these 75 days have been the longest stretch of time I've taken off. Since I was /7/.

Then again, Phil's words continue to echo, "You are very fortunate.". Yes. I believe I see that, despite all the life that has passed me by.

The truth is, if I can hold any fear of the future at bay, I could turn around and go Out There for another year or maybe even two if I wanted to.

Jay and I actually talked for quite a while. It may have been a couple of hours. He talked about trying to teach people, "I know what I want to say and what I want to get across but I get so frustrated when they don't get it.", he mentioned. That got me to thinking about a conversation I had with Valerie of what goes on inside the minds of technical people, software developers and engineers, when they work and why it seems like they don't have "social skills". I was thinking I should write an article on that topic from both perspectives. I've spent a great deal of time trying to get over my own "technical bent" and see things from very different perspectives.

It has not been easy.

We parted company. I was still pretty cooked and decided to bail on the tower. I rode out with the intention of finding a gas station and convenience store and drinking a great deal of water.

I came upon a station and parked my bike near the door and purchased a bunch of water bottles. I was fully intent on performing the time honored motorcycle ritual of loitering at the gas station when I noticed ...

So I sat down on the ledge in front of the sign and proceeded to illegally loiter with reckless abandon proud of my act of rebellious defiance.

"Good Geeks Gone Bad.", I thought as I laughed aloud maniacly. Passers by avoided me a bit more than usual.

After drinking copious amounts of water and, wisely, diluting it with even more coffee I headed off. It was much later in the day than I had wanted it to be. I was supposed to meet Rachel in Philadelphia the next day but she was more than 250 miles away from my location.

I wanted to do some good roads. On the map I had noticed routes 144 and 44 heading south from route 6. It looked like they might be good roads. Despite the lack of time I decided to keep with the plan and do the little roads. After the days of traffic, heat and suffering,  I'm glad I did.

Finally, some good roads.

Route 144 turned South off of Route 6 and headed through the Susquehannock State Forest. I rode on for hours hardly seeing a single car. It was a wavey curvey beautiful road. The pavement wasn't quite to the quality of what you see in the Smokey Mountains but the scenery was comparable.

Most of the trip has been about scenery, introspection and new experiences. Roads out West are often too treacherous to really have fun on. Corners inevitably are covered in gravel because it doesn't rain enough. Large critters often camp out in the middle of the road.

But here in the East on roads like this it's about pure motorcycling enjoyment. I will have to take a long weekend and ride these roads again. Maybe I can talk Duncan or Josh into joining me.

Route 144 turns into 44 and the fun continues.

There were hills and valleys, all covered in trees.

Unfortunately there were few places in the really curvey bits to snap photos. 10mph corners and 25mph switchbacks were not uncommon.

There were sections of forest here that were so dark peering into them all you could see is blackness only occasionally interrupted by solitary beams of sunshine that penetrated the canopy in the distance. "Mirkwood.", I thought.

Pennsylvania has always appealed to me.

In places you could get a sense for how hilly this terrain is. After being out West I have a hard time calling them "mountains", but I guess technically they are.

I eventually found my way back to the Interstate and started making some time. By the end of the day I had ridden well over 300 miles, most of them on wonderful back roads.

It rode all the way to Allentown but all the hotels were booked solid. They sent me over to Vogelsville, or some such town, where I did manage to find a Comfort Inn with some vacancies. Tired, thirsty and very hungry I made a mad dash over to the only grill in town that was still open. Demonstrating compassion for my fellow human beings I sat as far away from everyone else in the bar as I could.

The bartender was very kind and asked me, of course, where I had been riding from. She too had watched the Ice Roads Truckers show and when I mentioned I had ridden the haul road she said, "You're crazy!".

She would come back by the table every once in a while and ask me more questions about the trip. Unlike many of the places I've been to in Pennsylvania this woman had a very hard core work ethic. That's something I always hold in high regard. Unfortunately, I've forgotten her name.

I went back to the hotel with the intention of writing but between scrambling down and up canyon walls and doing all those back roads in the heat I was completely wiped out ... I was asleep before I knew it ...

Imagine the smell of a dog lying in the hot sun for 10 days dead after a rain. The toxic fume emanating from my Transit Suit is worse. Even the most battle hardened carrion loving flies now avoid me.

Phil had mentioned the suit smelled bad, which it did. After having worn it almost every day for 70+ days now it's to be expected. But after the cycles of rain followed by endless hours of being stuck in slow moving traffic under sticky humid sunshine over the last two days, now it truly reeks.

The comfort Inn I'm staying at serves a real breakfast. I'm wearing the shorts Bruce gave me in deference to the other guests. I never wear shorts.

Yea, it's that bad.

I'm going to be visiting Rachel in Philadelphia tomorrow. I'm tempted through simple human compassion to get a hotel somewhere near her place, shower, change and walk over instead of arriving in all my odiferous glory.

Yuck.

I think I figured out why everything got so soaked in the rain the other day. On these country roads so filled with slow moving traffic I wasn't able to maintain anything over 35mph for any length of time. During the first leg of the trip when I had spent days on end being dumped upon it was all at highway speeds. That creates a wind buffer around the bike which prevents the rain from getting behind the fairing. But at these slow speeds the rain comes down and just soaks everything. Water pooled up on the seat, over the tankbag, everywhere. It also explains why visibility was so poor. There just wasn't enough wind to clear the faceshield. All in all it made for unpleasant riding.

The previous day riding in slow traffic in the rain had taken it out of me. I was too tired to write and ended up sleeping late. The motel I had found in the middle of nowhere was nice. There were pretty flowers.

I had not had dinner the previous night and subsisted on nothing but cashews and pecans. The clerk at the hotel mentioned a diner down the road. It was "Happy Days" themed. I should have taken a photo of the inside. Strangely, much of the memorabilia they had inside seemed authentic from the era. It felt old.

I didn't really have high hopes that it would stay dry. The clouds menaced low over the trees. I hit the road with the intention of making it to the Eastern Grand Canyan in Pennsylvania. It was already pretty warm and humid. The stickiness still hung in the air from a early rain. I got on the bike and rode on. Route 55 through New York is a slow road filled with small towns and traffic, lots and lots of slow moving traffic. There was, however, the occasional cool bridge.

I like old impressive bridges.

It seemed like every attempt at forward progress was thwarted by yet another slow moving vehicle. Mercilessly few passing zones combined with geriatric drivers intent on doing 10mph UNDER the speed limit while randomly braking due to imaginary hazards would conspire to frustrate even the most patient riders. Then there was the tractor trailer doing 20mph for nearly half an hour when finally a two lane passing zone appeared. A pickup truck with yet another geriatric driver who was all of 30 years old, decided to prevent all traffic from passing the tailer and a line of cars 10 deep were stuck in the mid day heat for yet another 30 minutes. Temperatures would at times reach the mid 90's. I roasted.

Have I mentioned I don't seem to do well in the heat?

I felt none of that calm that I felt Out There. I want to hold on to that calm but I am too affected by my environment and today it was really getting to me.

If it hadn't been for the traffic these roads would have been really nice.

At times they traversed hills and could have been alot of fun.

20mph corners are frequent on these roads.

There were also pretty vistas.

It would alternate between a solid rain and hot sticky sunshine. In the sun, this landscape lit up and one could really get a sense of how overwhelmingly green everything is.

I find myself once again in a very different landscape. "How many have I seen thus far?", I would think.

It started to rain again. I happened upon a small pond where a strange mist hung low over one section.

It looked like a setting you might see in a horror film, the mist concealing an approaching evil.

I rode on and came upon a group of deer chomping away at some grass around a transformer. Despite the rain I snapped a photo. I had thought deer would be such a larger part of this story.

There were a number of reservoirs behind earthen dams. This one had a pulloff and cruelly where I stood it was raining steadily and not more than 10 yards away over the water it was sunshine.

Eventually I made it to Pennsylvania. "Too close to home.", I thought as I realized from this point I could easily make it home today if I wanted to. I was already pretty tired from the alternating rain and heat cycles.

I've always liked Pennsylvania. There's a blue collar practicality to the culture here.

Overheating I stopped at a gas station to drink copious amounts of water. This car rolled up.

I didn't talk to the owner.

Much of the infrastructure in Pennsylvania seems really old. A number of bridges like this one can be seen.

There are also incredible vistas of farms and fields as far as the eye can see bounded by thick dark forests.

At times the road would curve down through gentle tree covered valleys.

It would cross tall passes with the occasional awe inspiring scenic overlook.

At this particular overlook a treacherous trail extended out onto a ledge. This precariously perched tree was more impressive in person than in this photo.

Forward progress was just not being made. The traffic lessened for short intervals only to get my hopes up. As the rains stopped the temperature rose. I started to roast in earnest. I had been on the road for hours on end and had managed to average less than 25mph over the day. Realizing I was near exhaustion from the heat, I decided to call it a day over 50 miles from goal.

Because of traffic, heat and conditions, I didn't find that calm I need to "meditate". The only topic I found myself considering as I rode behind yet another Ma and Pa kettle was my relationship with possessions, with Things. I think I aspire to have Less. More on that another time.

I'm going to go downstairs wearing the shorts Bruce gave me and get some breakfast. I have considered bailing on the Eastern Grand Canyon to just start the trip to Philadelphia, but I think I can probably still make it to take a quick look, do some back roads South and then superslab it for the latter half of the day. If I don't run into too much traffic I should be able to get close enough to Philly to make it an easy ride in tomorrow to meet Rachel after noon some time.

My journey is nearly over. In three days I'll be back at home mired in the Stress and surrounded by Obligations and wondering what I'm going to do with the rest of my life. All options are open to me but I have few real answers. Just glimmers of ideas. At some point I'm going to have to stop hemorraghing money and start earning some.

Phil said to me on my last day with him how fortunate he thought I was. "Not everyone can do what you have done. Few have the means to go away for as long as you have.", he said. "But the price I've paid to be able to do this is too high. It's not been worth it.", I replied.

"Many who have lived through Nightmares like you have never resolve them. They're stuck in them until they die. But right now, you are very fortunate. I can't afford to do what you are doing.", he replied.

He's right. If I discount the past and focus only on this long moment, I have been extremely fortunate. This journey has turned out to be so different than I ever expected. So unbelievably Improbable.

There's such a big part of me that wants to pause to regroup and then turn around and head back Out There.

I liked myself out there. I don't think I've ever liked myself before.

My unbelievable streak of multi-week rain luck has run out. The last 5 or so hours were spent driving through one of those annoying soaking New England rains, the kind that inexplicably penetrates through that which had been impervious during the worst downpours.

To add insult to injury my Garmin Nuvi GPS has completely given up the ghost so I stood there in the rain with paper maps trying to figure out where to find a motel.

I had wanted to ride further to get a more convenient and less isolated motel near something to eat but darkness, poor visibility and the blinding light of relentless oncoming traffic conspired to make riding downright dangerous. I pulled off at the first motel I could find.

But I digress.

I am very tired so we'll see how much of this I get done.

Thursday evening Phil suggested we take a ride over to a bike meet that takes place at a motorcycle safety gear cafe. Yea, I hadn't heard of such an establishment either.

Phil was having some trouble with an oil filter on his BMW. When he pulled the old filter off the old gasket stuck to the block and he didn't notice at the time. So he installed the new filter, with it's own gasket, on top of the old gasket. This is a serious leak and fire hazard waiting to happen. To make things more difficult, he couldn't get the filter off with the tools he had. 

So he decided to dress the part and ride his cruiser instead.

Brain-bucket helmet and all. As has been the case since I've returned to the East Coast, traffic was just horrible. It took forever to get to the cafe. But once there, as described, it was a shop specializing in motorcycle safety gear and included an espresso bar.

I was pretty tired so I ordered an Americano which they served in porcelain. I walked around and took a look at the assortment of odd bikes that had assembled outside. There were a number from the Italian manufacturer Motoguzzi. Motoguzzi has almost a cult following. This model, which I had never seen before, led me to believe Motoguzzi is finally trying to join modern times.

I've never drawn to this brand.

I also happened on a Honda VFR700, which happened to be the bike Leonard rode to the Arctic Circle back in '92. That was the trip on which I got sick and had to drop out in Bellingham, Washington.

There was also a custom "street fighter" bike which I guess was based on a Suzuki GSXR.

There was even a Ural with a side car.

Ural is a Russian manufacturer that currently produces bikes that would have been behind the times in the 1940's. The model shown here was built in 2009. The paint was already faded and the thing was rusting.

There was quite an assortment of machines and a number of people. I was listening to one old guy talking on his cellphone trying to help someone diagnose some computer problem.

As I try to pay more attention to how I react to things emotionally, I began to awaken to the fact that I really didn't enjoy this meet. It was difficult to engage people in conversation. Most riders we observed coming into the parking lot had trouble handling their bikes.

It was as if the entire gathering had nothing to do with "motorcycling". I don't mean to be critical but it seemed to be a bunch of guys squawking at each other, "Look! I have a thing! It's such a pretty thing! I like my thing. You have a different thing. It is not as good as my thing. Look at my thing.". I imagined a bunch of seagulls.

Things.

I too have a thing. I like it because it helps me think and takes me to places in my own soul that I have found no other way to reach. I do not care if anyone looks at this thing of mine. I feel a bond to it because of experience and an appreciation for the ethic, insights and design sense of the men and women who created it. If I were to design a motorcycle it would be much like the one I have. It fits me. The aspects that are important to me don't seem to have much to do with the "thing" itself. It's not jewelry for me. It's a place and a doorway. Sometimes. I like to invite guests into this place so they can get a glimpse of what it is that I experience here.

Phil calls it my meditation chamber.

We headed back and met Valerie for dinner.

The next day was much as the previous days. Phil was done with work early and suggested that we take a drive down to the yacht club where his friend Thomas had a sailboat. We fought traffic for what seemed like an eternity to get there. On the way Phil made a few stops including one at a Snapon Tool Van to see about getting a proper tool to remove his oil fiter wrench.

I can't remember ever having been inside a Snapon tool truck before. Snapon arguably makes the best mechanics tools in the world. The joke is they are more expensive than their weight in gold.

This truck could be very hazardous to my wealth.

Things! Lot's of things! And with them I could fix so many more of the problems you and I don't have.

After a tour through the most prestigious yacht clubs that Massachussets has to offer, we arrived at the club where Thomas had his boat, a 1982 Tartan 37.

I had some phone calls to make which I took care of. They were all pleasantly patient with me. I had mentioned to Phil, after hearing more of his sailboat racing stories, that I thought it would be interesting to go sailing with him. I don't think I've been on a sailboat in over 10 years. He had explored several options and Thomas had agreed to take us all out the next day.

Thomas's girlfriend, Cinthia, who was extremely nice, always made certain that we had drinks in our hands. Unfortunately, Cinthia is allergic to dogs, so Phil and Valierie's dog, Bella, needed to stay on the dock.

I like this photo of the three of them.

We hung out for a while and then headed off to an Italian restaurant. I had wanted to take Phil and Valerie out to dinner as a way of saying thank you for all their hospitality. I had stayed with them much longer than I had thought I was going to.

The next day rolled around far too quickly. I was up and ready to go by 10AM as per Phil's instructions. Promptly at 11:30 we headed off to the boat. Phil had been concerned that there wouldn't be any wind on Saturday. Luckily for us, the weather forecast had been wrong.

What I did not know is that Thomas had only owned the vessel for two months and had not really sailed it properly. The boat had not yet been really shaken down and Phil flitted about with a dexterity that had to be seen to be believed, given how big he is, to get issues resolved prior to leaving the dock. We got underway surprisingly quickly and were soon in position to raise the main sail. Thomas mentioned that he had not yet raised the main since owning the boat.

Phil has a real talent for direction unskilled labor. Together we raised the main and before I knew it we were under sail.

Thomas and Cinthia were so nice and accommodating. There was an easy going nature about the both of them that was refreshing. Unlike the owners at the bike meet, they did not seem to be all that involved in the "thing" Thomas owned. They were so much more concerned about the experience, the moment, the having guests who appreciated the time.

The sun was shining. There was wind. The scenery was beautiful. Thomas, Phil and Cinthia were endlessly pointing out one major historical land mark after another.

Valerie, on the other hand, seemed to understand what sailboats are supposed to be for. Lounging.

Cinthia was alway ready to make someone a drink.

I have to admit I liked the boat, but sailing does seem like alot of work. Thomas had been in a very nasty accident some time ago. He fell off a roof three stories up and is badly damaged. He is in constant pain and walks with a cane. Phil was endlessly moving about expending all kinds of energy trimming the sails, adjusting things and generally supervising to make sure everything went smoothly.

Occasionally, Phil would get me involved in pulling lines and helping set things. I have virtually no sailing experience and what little I have is from decades ago.

But mostly I was allowed to just sit around and follow Valerie's lead.

Cinthia sat up on the highside rail as "railmeat".

She has a little web design company but I failed to get the URL for it.

At one point, Thomas asked if I could take the wheel. I have hundreds of hours behind the wheel of power boats but less than 20 behind the wheel of a sailboat. Steering this boat under sail on the open water proved to be challenging. It would move in unexpected ways and I found myself constantly overcompensating.

Once I was behind the wheel, Phil promptly went below and tried to go to sleep.

We pulled into a harbor and after some trial and error found a place to tie up and eat. The harbor was pretty.

A friend of Cinthia's joined us at the restaurant. His name was also Phil. An esoteric individual.

We stayed for quite a while but dinner seemed to be over before it started. We were back under sail before we knew it. I was keenly aware of how hard Phil was working to make everything a smooth experience.

As the sun started to set and the waves got choppier I decided to move to the bow.

I didn't get spashed much. With the sun setting and Thomas exclaiming, "I love life.", I said aloud, "Let us take a moment to consider those out there less fortunate than ourselves. At the present moment, that would include most of humanity."

This particular rare moment in life really did not suck in the least. As I sat on this rocking boat being moved erratically by rolling seas and a brisk wind, I once again considered the fact that I was sitting up on the bow alone, no one with whom I could say, at some future date, "do you remember that moment, there in the glow of the setting sun on that wonderful sailbot ...". There are just some moments in life that are really not supposed to be experienced alone.

I think Phil and Valerie understood this better than I did..

They put me behind the wheel again. With these larger seas, keeping the boat straight was even more challenging.

Thomas suggested a photo of the two of us. We really got along. Despite his agony and ill fortune his outlook is so much more positive than mine. He doesn't seem to have any of my darkness, but then again I didn't get to know him very well.

Eventually a sailboat started gaining on us and was on a course to cross our path too close for my comfort. I gave the wheel back to Thomas to let him deal with it.

The sun started to set over the horizon.

We sailed into the night.

We arrived at the dock around 8:30PM or so. Cinthia's daughter, Stephanie, showed up with her boyfriend. I think his name was Al, but I could be mistaken. I couldn't decide who she reminded me of. I kept coming up with the name Angelina Jolie, but that isn't right. It continues to bug me. I often have a talent to match patterns and can point out who someone is similar to. I've seen someone who looks and acts strikingly similar to Stephanie but for the life of me I can't place it.

We all hung out and chatted until well past 11PM. Phil was getting really tired having worked hard to make all of our lives as easy as they had been. So we left and headed back.

It had been a very good day.

I woke up around 9:30AM the next day, grabbed a shower, did a load of laundry and then packed up the bike to get ready to go.

Phil wanted to joiin me out to the New York State border. After some futzing with my exhaust, off we went.

There was alot of traffic at first and has been the case during all the rides with Phil, the pace was disquieting. If we end up doing significantly more miles together some more compromises in styles are going to have to be reached. He just rides too fast and aggressively for my comfort level.

But with the new exhaust in place and being able to engine brake, it was not nearly as challenging to keep up with him as it had been. Initially, the bike had been running alot warmer than before the exhaust had been installed. On this ride, however, the engine seemed to slowly cool down over time. I'm not sure why.

While I feel guilty about the fact that the new exhaust does not have a catalytic converter on it, I have to admit I'm enjoying the boost in power. It can really be felt.

We rode out route 2 West through Massachussets. It's a beautifully scenec road bounded by lush green fields and forests. I didn't want to stop to take photos since I was riding with Phil. After some hours, we arrived at the destination he had chosen. This wonderful little restaurant ontop of a hill with a spectacular view.

It had started to drizzle a bit.

We had lunch and I had copious amounts of brown colored water.

After a while it came time to part company. With a, "See ya, buddy", he was off. I futzed with my GPS for a while seeing if I could maybe coax it into reviving but being thwarted I suited up and headed to points West and South.

It began to rain within minutes. My luck, which has been unbelievably improbably, had finally run out.

Reality..