The west is an icon to cowboys and Native Americans. To me it's a symbol of peace. It seems so much more quiet there. The air seems so much more clean and crisp. The people are so much nicer and friendly. My mom, dad, and I made our way to the great west on june something 2012. It was a blissful morning. We stopped a good 250 miles in the trip for some McDonald's and headed back out into the great wide open. The plains were hard to get across but yet again worth it. I swear though my neck was stick to the side because of the wind pushing it. Our first over night stop was in Kansas. We stayed in a hotel and surprisingly there wasn't anyone there to steal our bikes. For a while I never really understood what was so great about motorcycling. I used to see it as sitting on the back of a bike doing nothing while your ass gets super sore and I never found that to be fun. That was until I realized what we were riding for - or at least what I was riding for- . We -I- ride for adventure for peace and for the ones who never got the chance to. 3 years ago our family had a tragic downfall. We lost the light of our lives. At age 15 Bryce was gone. He was sent to heaven to watch over us as an angel. He would always look at my dad's bike and say how one day he too will ride, but just as fast as his life had gone his dream had gone too. At least thats what I had thought. You see after Bryce's death my view on motorcycle's had changed completely. I suddenly realized that his dream was lost. The thought wracked my brain for days. I knew what I had to do. I needed to ride. I needed to travel with my parents and do exactly what Bryce never got to do. So I at age 15 (i am 16 now) rode halfway across the country.