After regaling my coworkers (and anyone else who would listen) with stories of motorcycle travel and the associated silliness for years, another brave soul has stepped up and decided that traveling with me might be a fun adventure. I'm fairly sure that he's incorrect about that, but I'm willing to give it a shot. Traveling with a Type-A OCD nut bag is rarely fun as he'll soon find out. Mostly because actual fun is rarely the goal. The real goal is to make an overly complex plan with unachievable expectations and then to kill oneself trying to execute to it down to the smallest detail. Days spent watching the odometer, cursing the clock, and trying to calculate your average rate of speed and the exact moment you'll reach your destination. Rushed meals, bladders on the verge of rupture, and no stopping for any reason whatsoever for fear that it'll ruin your average rate of speed. Riding from sun up to sun down in search of a new mileage record. That's my version of fun, right there. I'm told that admitting you have a problem is the first step. I've never moved on to a second step. I'm suspecting that these 3 middle-aged Harley riders (don't get upset - I'm middle-aged too) might not subscribe to my particular version of motorcycle travel. Frankly, I'm counting on it. They're probably going to hate me the first time that I want to hit the road at 6:00AM or the first time I devour my lunch in 3 minutes and then want to get back on the road or when I suggest that we still have a few hours of riding left before it's REALLY dark or that Key West is only a quick 600 miles away and we should just pop down there for a photo op at the southernmost point in CONUS. If this story is going to be any fun at all, they're probably going to have to be annoyed by my presence. Wait until they get a look at my laminated packing list. In the end, however, I'll ride anywhere with anyone so long as I'm riding and there's the potential for a story. So, with that, I give you the tale of Bob, Dave, Rick, and Ross...3 Harley Davidson FLs and an odd looking BMW GSA...winding south from Massachusetts for 2 weeks in September. It's like that song from Sesame Street..."One of These Things is Not Like The Others". I expect to be singing that in my helmet the entire trip. Three Clydesdales and a Zebra - An Unlikely Herd for a multitude of reasons.