I guess I'm not the kind of guy that took alot of chances in life. All I really wanted to do was to get an education, have a decent career and settle down with my family. Not the kind of stuff that sells books. I'm happy, very happy with my life. Motorcycles have always been there, since I was a kid. Dad was a motorhead and a good rider. We grew up in eastern woods, hare scrambles, enduros, weekend rides. Family bikes, Yamaha, Penton, Husky, hell Bultaco. I turned to street in college. All of my trips on two wheels were weekends, a couple of weeks tops. I was turning 50 and had fairly recently gotten back in to dirt a few years ago, I decided I wanted a bigger trip. Carve out a month. I wanted to ride dirt as much as possible, tour on dirt. Travel big miles, in a more intimate way with the road. Dodge puddles, cross water, fight the bars through sand or ease through rocks. Hell yeah, that's the way to see the country. Camp too. Seek out lonely roads. Take my time and talk to anyone that wants to talk as long as they want to talk. I initally wanted to ride the TAT to the CDT heading west to north. Finally, I decided that I didn't want to follow a route, have a script written by someone else. I'd figure it out as I came to it. Don't worry about riding the best. Ride the road that was under your tires and go. Old riding buddies planned to go too but found one reason or another to avoid the discussion. I saw that I would go solo. Best thing I ever did! My wife and female friends thought that it was probably the most ill advised idea anyone could have. Just follow my nose. Camp if it was pretty. Sleep in or sit drinking coffee if I wanted. Talk to nobody or anybody. So, I finally left on 6/20 for a month heading west. Here is my tour from Virginia through Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, the corner of Oregon and Washinton, Montana, South Dakota and back home. 7700 miles, much of it dirt.