Listening to Nora Jones sing, Why Can’t He Be You, part of her Patsy Cline tribute. Probably no coincidence that it was the first song to come up, when I looked at the blank screen to write about my day, which would not rank at the top. I am referring to the mood of the song, not why he can’t be you.

After I sent my post this morning from Detroit Lake, I wasn’t able to get warm. I couldn’t stop shivering. I put on extra layers and my body began to slowly relax. Michael turned on the heater in his truck and I sat in it until it was time to get on the bike and leave. We were heading west toward Dundee, hard core wine country and where Michael’s was building a magnificent tasting room and administrative offices for the vineyard that provided us with the misappropriated bottle from last night. I know I referred to it as a pinot noir, but the truth is I know nothing about wine, nor do I know much about film noir either.

I don’t know why, but I wasn’t feeling comfortable on the bike today. I wasn’t going to write about it and then I decided I had to. I am trying to be honest with you folks and I would like to think that is why some of you suffer through these posts of mine.

I have been identifying with Charlie Chaplin’s Little Tramp character on this ride. He was a very sympathetic person who got into one mess after another, but always kept trying. He fumbled and bumbled, but he was incredibly endearing and he made it OK for everyone to make mistakes and laugh about them. The truth is I am not a hardcore biker, not even close. The idea was to do this ride of mine, not to do it well, just to do it. It is intended to be an accomplishment, something I felt I needed to do for myself.

When I ran the NYC Marathon in 1982, I was thrilled and the instant I managed to cross the finish line, I was positive I would never do another one. It is how I feel about this motorcycle ride, now that I am having the opportunity to live it. This experience, like the marathon, will never become a vague memory. I remember many of the details of that race because it still is an important part of my life after all this time. I think I only have one of these motorcycle journeys in me and it will affect me for the rest of my life.

Rain was in the forecast today and we knew we would be heading right into it on our way west. We got going under a grey and cloudy sky and I couldn’t seem to find my comfort zone. We pulled over after around an hour and I dug into the bottom of one of the hard cases and pulled out my orange and black, Pillsbury Doughboy rain gear. The rain found us without much difficulty and I really had to focus to make sure I stayed behind Michael’s truck.

The road into the vineyard was a fairly steep hill and had a gravel entry. Today, we did the double. I dropped the bike on the way in and on the way out. I wasn’t going to tell you this part either, but I don’t want to play into a romanticized idea regarding my ride. I am out there about as far as I can go and it has been many things already, but boring isn’t one of them.

 Leaving the driveway, scene of the multiple droppings, all I wanted to do was ride to Neskowin Creek, check in and then go to the cabin to regroup for tomorrow. I am pleased to report that I am comfortably ensconced in the cabin. The heat is cranked and as soon as I finish this, I am going to get under the covers and tell myself a bed time story about this guy, a guy just like everybody else, who kept coming back for more.