I think I need to write these things in the morning. By the time evening rolls around and I get into a campground or hotel I'm often too tired to make much sense.

I sat in the diner yesterday until almost 2PM writing. Between all the photos and trying to phrase things the way I wanted, it took me almost three hours to write that last post. I was telling Bruce that the writing is in some ways detracting from being in the moment during the trip. "It's like in physics, it's impossible to observe a thing without affecting it". Well said Bruce.

I have to admit I continue to be very surprised at the feedback I get about these posts. It's been overwhelmingly positive. Thank you all. It makes it alot easier to take the time out to do them but it's also humbling to think that so many of you actually read what I write. Trying to find the right balance in this public forum is a real challenge.

As I started this journey I had this sense that I was in search of a sense of "away". That's what drew me to Alaska. It's seems very far away to me. But more importantly I realized yesterday that what I'm really trying to achieve is a sense of "away" from myself through physical distance from the familiar. Ideas acrete during a lifetime of stress. We add unconscious burdens. Choices and wants become needs. Travelling by motorcycle knocks you into remembering how little you really need. It frees the mind to think and consider possibilities that seem impossible when surrounded by too much stuff, too many demands and too many instances of the word "should". I am thanking my former self for not incurring debt so that I can easily afford this adventure.

"away" is also about being open to new possibilities. "away" from the constraints of your own preconceptions, sense of identify, sense of self, sense of should. I continue to seek out the uncomfortable, to challenge the sense of boundaries, some real, most imagined.

That's why I try very hard to be brutally honest here about what I see, think, and feel as I ride across this vast country. While the country is in most places simply beautiful, what goes on inside me as I ride through it is often less so. It's another boundary and it's terribly uncomfortable for me to do. I should not expose those parts here. It's ill advised. I'll destroy the view people have of me. I'll lose reputation. Etc. etc. Fuck it. This is my story, profanity and all.

There's something interesting about this forum. I could just as easily write all kinds of experiences into a personal journal and keep it hidden. I could do as Pirsig did and wrap it up in a fiction. But neither of these would cause me to form my thoughts in the way I can when I write for you, knowing that you will read it. It provides a framework. I have often said "You cannot get to know yourself (in the context of society) until you understand how you are different from others". When I describe things to you, instead to myself, it opens up a bunch of insights into myself that I would not have had had this been just me by myself.

What's strange is that I'm really enjoying the writing. There's a part of me that wants to sit out in the vast open greenness and just write. I woke up this morning thinking of what I could share with you.

They keep telling me I'm free for probably the first time in my life, able to choose for myself. However, I am still completely at a loss how to use this new found freedom, hence the constant soul searching about cages and boundaries. Free a dog that's been on a chain too long and it will likely just sit there not understanding it can go past its former boundary. The external walls have fallen, but the internal ones are still very much in place.

In the mid-day Colorado heat, which was oppressive, I headed out of Delta, Colorado on route 92 to route 133 and eventually on to route 13 north. On the way I saw a number of what I believe were coal mines.

Note to self: see if I can get a tour of a working coal mine. That would be cool. Yes, it's true, I'm strangely fascinated by industry which I discovered about myself in part due to the history channel program "Modern Marvels". I keep thinking there are these salt mines under the Great Lakes somewhere I'd like to visit.

Spanning both sides of the mine was an extremely long coal train.

At one point I passed an abandoned old-school coal mine and shortly after that an exposed coal mine bed. It was literally falling out of the canyon wall onto the shoulder. There wasn't a good place to stop to take a picture. I was trying to make time so I avoided the temptation to turn around to take a picture of both. I've never seen exposed coal like that in a band maybe 4 feet thick and 50 feet long exposed plain to see in the canyon wall.

I made my way in the heat to Colorado route 133. It dawned on me as I rode through this route that I haven't talked much about motorcycles or motorcycling. I thought about this for quite a while. Motorcycling has become such a part of me it's virtually unconscious and as a result is almost an abstraction.

Most riders will talk endlessly about their bikes and the rides they've been on. They will attempt to describe the feeling of riding as being "one with the motorcycle". It's an old cliche which I don't want to use here.

People are often surprised to find out that I prefer travelling long distances by motorcycle versus a car. Car travel for me always hurts so much more than motorcycle travel, with the possible exception of my former 911, but that's another story. The forces your body is exposed to in a car seem more unnatural than what you're exposed to on a bike. Take a corner hard in a car and the car body rolls to the outside your body along with it. On a motorcycle it's different. You lean into a corner. The feeling is so much more fluid. It's less about steering as it is willing your body to shift it's weight. The motorcycle just follows that lead.

Route 133 is a wonderful mountain road with endless 30mph gentle corners in succession. As I carved these corners leaning back and forth to the rythmn of the road I thought this is probably alot like dancing. (I don't dance, but maybe I should learn.) To ride a bike well, you have to be fluid, you have to be smooth. You have to lead but you can't force the machine. You have to exist within it's parameters. Achieve that smoothness and magic happens.

My bike is not powerful, fast or nimble. What it is, however, is a great street machine. It's taken me many years to appreciate how well executed this bike is. The K100RS was never a popular bike. It was too weird for the tastes of most riders and had some serious design flaws.

But it's an eminently sensible road riding machine and the more I ride it the more I love it.

When you drive a car you're in an enclosed environment watching the outside world. Your relationship with the road is confined to gravity and suspension. The rest is just like television.

On a motorcycle, you are in the elements. You feel and smell everything. (which is not always so good as I encountered more than one dead skunk today). On a sport touring machine, you're leaned forward so as you're riding your field of vision hardly contains the bike. Get enough speed and good lean going, head tilted to keep your eyes level with the ground while, because of the lean, there's nothing between you and the road, you feel like you're flying.

I continued on route 133.

Many of the higher roads in Colorado have gates and signs indicating whether or not the road is passable. I had been told there was still 6feet of snow on some passes in Colorado which I was hoping to see, but I never encountered anything of the sort.

The road contined and, of course, I was compelled to take more mountain photos.

After a while the landscape started turning green.

This was quite a contrast to the arid conditions I had seen earlier.

Of course, there were more mountains.

I thought the clouds in this photo were cool.

Eventually Route 133 starts heading down hill. It's the kind of road that embodies what I think of when I think of the Colorado Rockies. High mountains with crystal clear fast running streams.

There was a pulloff and three riders were hanging out. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that any BMW rider knows about the Dalton highway in Alaska and Deadhorse. "it's not that bad", the guy said but he had never been on the road.

As I was standing there, a guy in a pickup rolled up. "I've got one of those and I had to check yours out", he said pointing to my bike. His name was Phillip and he had picked up in '85 K100RS, the previous generation to my '92.

He asked me some questions about his bike. We chatted for a while and I asked him to snap a shot of me in front of the stream.

This was just a great spot. The stream wound it's way around a cliff face.

The sound here was great. I have many positive associations with the sounds of running creeks.

The fuel consumption and power loss issues I was having previously seem to have resolved themselves, at least for the moment. Recently I've been getting over 50mpg.

Not bad for less than 4 gallons of gas.

After getting gas I checked the GPS and found a starbucks within 11 miles.Unfortunately it turned out to be one of those 'in-grocery-store' Starbucks which always suck. They don't make the coffee fresh, they keep it in thermoses. That sucks! I drank a cup of too stale coffee afterwhich I went to the bike to check routes. I was fumbling with the GPS and Atlas when two lades drove up and asked if I needed help.

They seemed impressed by my Aerostich suit. I asked about routes and towns and they said above Craig, CO there wasn't much. I did not realize how right they were. I mentioned I was heading to Yellowstone and the one woman said, "Don't camp there. People get eaten by bears up there every year. They don't make it well known, but it happens. Grizzlies.". Hmmmm.

I continued on and eventually the landscape changed. I found myself thinking about life and how tenacious it is. After all, we've discovered microbes that can withstand the harshness of space. But, I wondered, why is it that some mountains are covered in green vegetation and others are bare?

I didn't take a photo, but across route 70 from this range was another range that was virtually barren. I wonder if it's due to age of the rock, mineral composition or some other factor. I prefer the green covered ones, in case you were wondering.

(I have to remember that I am sick. Sometimes I forget. Man I hate it when my guts flake way when I travel. It's what so often prevents me from travelling. At least in the US if I run into trouble I'm never far from help. I'm thankful I'm holed up in a hotel right now. I guess the salad dressing I had last night had some sugar in it. Always bad ...)

I wonder what the Dalton Highway in Alaska will be like. It's 494 miles much of it is gravel. Some of it is reportedly mud. Along route 13 there was alot of construction. Is this what the Dalton will look like?

This surface wasn't bad but as I was following a car a rock was kicked up and hit my helmet with a loud thud. "The gravel on the Dalton is much bigger", I thought to myself with images of broken face shields running through my head. On this kind of road I could do a little over 30mph without too much trouble. I wouldn't want to go much faster than that because it's very difficult to see holes, heaves or the errant larger rock when you're moving too fast.

Have I mentioned the flies? There were these large flies, millions of them, all over the place. The horror story that played out on my faceshield was disgusting. Memories of British Columbia.

Eventually the landscape turned very green. I continued onto route 13 out into very empty country. I really needed to find a place to take a leak but the shoulders of the road had long since disappeared, and there wasn't a tree anywhere to be found. I rode on until I couldn't take it anymore, found a national forest access road and took it for half a mile.

I found myself in the middle of absolutely nowhere but had cell service. Welcome to the 21st century.

As I looked around I realized that for the first time I had that sense of "away". I could think there. I stayed in this place out under the big sky and watched the sun sink on the horizon.

Normally my mind is filled with concerns about my mother, the business. Am I being good for my friends? How am I going to save enough? How can I learn to invest better? Am I spending too much money? How am I going to help the people I care about? Has the way I've lived my life caused me to be unable to help those I care about the most? Have I lived my life irresponsibly? How am I going to turn the company around? How will I ever make the patience Anatoly has shown me worth it for him? How bad is unloading Fort Lamers (my mothers house) going to be? How am I possibly going to find the energy and insights to do all the networking, marketing, business development, operations, software development and project management I need to? How stupid is it to own a boat? Will I regret the money I have spent on this trip? And on and on ....

Stop.

In this moment, in this field, there was none of that. I wanted to read a good book. I wanted to write. I wanted to just stand and admire. Mostly I wanted to follow that dirt road and find out where it lead. But I had little gas in the tank, the sun was setting and I didn't know how hairy the road might get.

Sometimes there are good reasons not to do a thing.

I continued on and eventually crossed into Wyoming.

You get this feeling of being in the Big Nothing when you're in Wyoming, much more so than in Kansas if you can believe it. The sun took a very long time to set on the horizon.

My intention had been to stop when I reached I80. There had once been a gas station and some signs of life but now it was just delabitated trucks and abandoned buildings.

It had gotten much colder. When I was in Colorado the thermometer on the bike still read 100. It generally reads about 10degF hotter due to the heat effect from the engine. Now it was reading under 50. Once again I thanked Duncan for the heated handlebar grips. Flicking the switch, the grips heat up warming the blood pumping through your hands. This is enough to keep the blood flow going and raise your core temperature.

It got colder. I should have stopped and put on some warmer clothes but I kept thinking a stop had to be coming up. I continued down I80 for miles eventually ending up in Rawlins, WY. I had dinner at a diner then found a hotel. Unfortunately, the hotels were largely filled so I ended up staying in a much nicer place than I had intended. I probably should have camped but I needed to make time to get up to Yellowstone.

I'm currently about 340 miles from Yellowstrone. That's not alot of distance, but if I continue to stop every 20 minutes to take a picture it'll take all day to get there.

Ian said he's going to ride out on Thursday to meet me in Idaho at Farragut State Park in the evening. We'll camp there and then take a leisurely ride to Victoria together. Ian is great to ride with. We have exactly the same style and travelling with him is something I always look forward to. It's been too many years now since he and I have ridden together and even more years since we've ridden together with him on his Ducati.

I hope my guts don't become too much of a problem today. That could really suck. I had intended on leaving here early so I can camp in Yellowstone, but I'm glad I stayed here longer.

Note to self: no matter how self conscious you are about it, how much you'd like to believe you're not, you're sick, deal with it and move on.