Well I've made it safely home to America's #1 city (Fodors, 1989) , heeding the advice of armchair euphemisers I met along the way to keep my bike "rubber side down" as well as "between the ditches". I cruised triumphantly through the heart of a stylish Charlottesville Friday night , 6000 more miles on the odometer, camchain rattling violently, every surface of clothing and bike covered with insect corpses, and in possesion of a debit card now worth only the Chinese plastic it's printed on. I'm dirty and broke, but at least I'm not a statistic!
Now, the beauty of a blog lies in the fact that friends, associates, bored office workers with no relationship to the writer and internet predators that live along your route can follow your exploits on a daily basis. Unfortunately I was not able to post daily as I was faced with the choice of either taking a laptop or taking pants, therefore you the reader are going to have to be happy with the lump sum option. To hold your interest, know beforehand that in addition to the motorcycle aspect of this trip I also recreated a recipe from Julia Child's "The Art of French Cooking" each night in camp. Now for the trip!
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