The pain of this year’s Annual Migration can be summed up in one photo.
Even worse, not one of my motorcycles is here in Utah with me. (Yet.)
So, I’ll sit and dream for a bit, I guess.
To date, I’ve been reluctant to pay tribute to heart-lifting exuberance, the melancholy sweetness, the humbling wonder that is motorcycle touring, because, frankly, I’m not equipped to do so. The lonely open road? The wind through your... helmet? The majesty of the American West? These phrases are both terribly trite and painfully insufficient. Why do I ride for hundreds of miles a day, often in heat, cold, rain, and discomfort, anyway? For my Annual Return Migration, 2013, Pilot Guy followed me home in my Fearsome Toyota. Turns out he wasn’t just driving, but snapping photos of me, too. Elusive words, you fail me! This! This! These photos say everything I can not.
|El Capitan/Agathla Peak, near Kayenta, AZ|