FIRST GEAR Going It Alone

Going It Alone

GREG DREVENSTEDT

Editor-In-Chief

By coincidence, Eric Trow and Peter Jones wrote about similar topics in their columns for this issue. In Riding Well, Eric writes about his preference for riding without listening to music or using in-helmet communicators. Whether the rides are short or long, solo or with companions, Eric enjoys being alone with his thoughts inside his helmet.

In The Moto Life, Peter writes about his preference for riding alone. Over the years, I’ve ridden with Peter many times at press launches. He’s a skilled rider, and he never fails to wear stylish footwear. There’s a fair amount of social interaction at press events, and Peter is no wallflower. He’s funny and outgoing, and some of the tales in his book, The Bad Editor, notwithstanding, he’s a seasoned pro. Peter doesn’t always ride alone, but if he had the choice, perhaps he would.

While working on this issue, I read The Impossible First, Colin O’Brady’s book about crossing Antarctica alone in 2018, without support and under his own power. O’Brady spent 54 days trudging across frozen emptiness for nearly two months, dragging a sled that weighed as much as 375 lbs for 12 hours a day, covering 932 miles. That is some serious alone time.

O’Brady avoided listening to music during his arduous journey. “I’d decided,” he writes, “that the profound silence of the world’s emptiest place was a gift that I shouldn’t run from or fill up with sound. … Antarctica was the world’s biggest sensory deprivation tank, a whiteboard waiting to be filled with scrawled thoughts, and maybe inspirations, and I’d decided I wanted to embrace the blank canvas and see where it led. I wanted nothing that could block, or even dull, what seemed like Antarctica’s most distinctive gift.”

Over the years, I’ve enjoyed many memorable rides with friends and fellow staffers, on group tours, and at press launches. But, if I’m honest, it’s the solo rides that have felt the most special. None were anywhere near as extreme as O’Brady’s solo trek across the ice, but each ride – especially the long ones – felt like a gift. They changed my perspective, giving me new ways to see and experience the world around me.

That’s what a journey is – an opportunity to be out in the world, to break free from routine habits, to let our curiosity take us into the unknown. Even rides in familiar places are never the same. The weather, the road conditions, the things we notice, our state of mind – they’re unique, like a fingerprint. We’re different because time has passed, and we’ve accumulated more life experience. Journeys change us even if we don’t realize it.

Little did I know back in the summer of 1998, just a few months after buying my first motorcycle, that a single-day, 750-mile ride from Philadelphia to Atlanta would introduce me to the world of motorcycle touring. I just wanted to visit family over the long Labor Day weekend, and, without a car, I figured my 12-year-old-but-new-to-me Yamaha FZ750 sportbike provided a convenient way to get there.

On my way to Atlanta, I got soaked to the bone in a tropical storm. After a few days at my parents’ house, I rode back home in another long day’s ride. The weather was hot and muggy, and I got a speeding ticket in Virginia. I arrived at my apartment in Philadelphia, dog-tired and sore from head to toe. But I also felt a sense of accomplishment. We’re at our best when we step – or ride – out of our comfort zone, when we have something to push against, to challenge us to dig deep and explore beyond our usual limits of daily life.

The other day, Thad Wolff dropped by. Thad is a renaissance man in the motorcycle industry, a former AMA Superbike racer and Cycle magazine staffer, and a talented craftsman who has restored and raced all kinds of motorcycles. He was also the photo model for the KTM test in this issue (page 16).

Thad told me about an upcoming cross-country motorcycle trip to visit his 91-year-old uncle. Thad plans to visit family and friends along the way and check out parts of the country he’s never seen before or wants to revisit. As he talked about the trip’s possibilities, I became excited – and a little jealous. Thad plans to take his time, to let the trip unfold without a rigid timetable or agenda.

Many of the solo trips I’ve taken felt rushed, often because I was riding to or from events for Rider. My only cross-country motorcycle ride – returning home to California from a press launch in North Carolina – was compressed into just four days because I was on a deadline. A few years earlier, after spending a week riding the Oregon Backcountry Discovery Route with two buddies, I blasted home from Walla Walla, Washington, in one day – riding 1,114 miles in 18 hours and completing my first SaddleSore 1000 in the process. Another time, while testing a Yamaha FJR1300, I rode from my home in Ventura to the four corners of California, logging 2,600 miles in a little over three days.

There’s no right or wrong way to travel by motorcycle. Solo, with a passenger, or with friends. Without or without music. On a tight schedule or with nothing but time. The only bad motorcycle ride is the one not taken.