Aviator. Fire pilot. Motorcycle rider. Vagabond. Drifter. Trouble-maker. Jack of all trades and master of none. I've been riding and writing about the places I've been and the people I've seen for quite a while. Some of my writing is factual; some of it isn't. I leave it up to readers to decide which - if any - lies are the truth. After becoming fed up with my job, I did what any sane person would do: I quit.
I got rid of most of what I owned, sold my house, climbed aboard my motorcycle and headed south to sunshine, blue sky and adventure. When I finally stopped, I was in Mexico. When I came to, I was sporting a full beard. Don't ask how long I was there. I have no idea. During one of my forays into the high desert, I was offered a part-time job at an old-school bike shop. My jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none life experience allowed me to parlay that into full time employment doing computer networking and security and a lot of other things that no else seemed to know how to do.
While there, I had more laughs and adventure than any sane person could imagine. I picked up and delivered motorcycles throughout the El Lay basin, planned and led bike runs up and down the length of California and the Baja, glad-handed and schmoozed high-rolling customers, and advised others when it was time to depart the shop. I've ridden over a lot of North America at one time or another from Canada to Mexico, and from Atlantic to Pacific.
By far, my favorite ride is up and down the length of the Baja Peninsula, where the people are friendly, the sun always shines and it's warm in the winter. Of everything that I have experienced in my all-too-brief life, Africa is perhaps the greatest enigma: a beautiful continent, rich in people, nature and resources, yet poor in all of those things too. Yes, I know. There are some missing years in there, but a little mystery is good for the soul, wouldn't you say?
I got rid of most of what I owned, sold my house, climbed aboard my motorcycle and headed south to sunshine, blue sky and adventure. When I finally stopped, I was in Mexico. When I came to, I was sporting a full beard. Don't ask how long I was there. I have no idea. During one of my forays into the high desert, I was offered a part-time job at an old-school bike shop. My jack-of-all-trades-master-of-none life experience allowed me to parlay that into full time employment doing computer networking and security and a lot of other things that no else seemed to know how to do.
While there, I had more laughs and adventure than any sane person could imagine. I picked up and delivered motorcycles throughout the El Lay basin, planned and led bike runs up and down the length of California and the Baja, glad-handed and schmoozed high-rolling customers, and advised others when it was time to depart the shop. I've ridden over a lot of North America at one time or another from Canada to Mexico, and from Atlantic to Pacific.
By far, my favorite ride is up and down the length of the Baja Peninsula, where the people are friendly, the sun always shines and it's warm in the winter. Of everything that I have experienced in my all-too-brief life, Africa is perhaps the greatest enigma: a beautiful continent, rich in people, nature and resources, yet poor in all of those things too. Yes, I know. There are some missing years in there, but a little mystery is good for the soul, wouldn't you say?
