Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
Adventures in Sport
Touring with the Honda ST 1100, 1300 and the BMW 1200RT
Exploring North America...One Road
at a Time
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Guy
Boutin's Motorcycle Touring and Travel Pages
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The Making of a Long Distance Rider The roots of my love for 2 wheels, and the feeling of the open road go way back. All the way back to my childhood days. I remember my first 2 wheel adventure. My dad gave me a shiny new Schwin for my 4th birthday. He taught me to ride it in the driveway of our modest working family home. He jogged along beside me, as my feet frantically worked the peddles. He would grab the seat when I swayed too far, keeping me out of trouble. I recall the front wheel feeling like it was out of control, as I tried to keep it straight. My dad reassuring me, "the faster you go the easier it will be to stay up". I caught on quickly, and was soon zipping up and down the quiet road in front of my house. Up and down I would go, waving at friends. I could RIDE, and I wanted them all to see. More then once, zooming along at mach 1 on some forgotten desert highway, I have drifted back to that day. I loved how riding made me feel free. I was still a little boy, and during the early days, I never ventured from the sight of my driveway. As the years went by, I got bigger bicycles and rode further and further from home. Pushing out to explore the neighborhood across the highway, and when it was charted, seeking adventure elsewhere. My school bus took me by a city park far from my home, a whopping 3 miles. In the mind of a 8 year old, a long way. The park housed a BIG serpentine slide, and there was always a line to get on it. I rode by that slide everyday for months. Finally, I got up the courage to take a ride to the park, to climb that slide and whoosh down it, like a genie on a flying carpet. I left home early on a Saturday morning, riding the back roads to escape the highway. I was fascinated as I rode by new homes and stores, and getting to see things up close. Absorbing the smells and sights of new places. The bus ride did not do this side of town justice. I arrived at the park, and there it was. THE slide. Tall and long, with kids gathered all around it. I was scared what the other kids would think, about the stranger from across town. They quickly accepted me, and I had the time of my life. I went down it a hundred times, all the while keeping a eye on my bike parked under the tree. On the way home, I stopped at the store for a drink, and chips. I was in high cotton for a 8 year old. Mountain Dew and chips, are still my favorite roadside snack. I learned way back then the best way to see the country was on 2 wheels. Exploring and being free is well served on a bike. Any bike. I returned to my neighborhood, stopping at Bill Gregory's house to let him know, I RODE to City Park and went down THE slide. "Nooooooooo you didn't?" "YES I did" The need to explore and seek things new quickly found its way in my psyche. My dad loved road trips. I remember being herded into our Mercury station wagon (the 60s Mini-van) and taking a trip. I found my place behind my dad in the backseat, next to the window. I rode with the window down, and enjoyed the ride. I was NOT one of those kids that asked "when are we going to get there?" My dad would point out things as we rode along. "This is the Dismal Swamp, that road goes to Richmond, or I wonder if there is motel up this way?" My brother and sister never connected with road trips the way I did. We did not take long trips. Only weekend stuff. Our longest road trip was to Alabama to visit my mother's family. I had the time of my life, looking out the window at the towns and people, stopping for snacks and roadside tourist traps. They were the days before interstate travel, things were much different then today. My father was not able to take us cross country at the time, he sold his 2 weeks vacation back to the company each year, for the extra money. I dreamed about going to the places I saw on TV. Westerns were very big in those days, and the images captured by the movies seemed surreal to me. Were there really places so high that snow never melted? Deep canyons and monument like rocks? Open range land with NO fences? How do I find these places? How do I get there? Ten years to the month of my first bike, my dad brought home another 2 wheel vehicle. This one would change everything. A shiny candy blue Honda CL 70. Once again, the learning process was repeated. "This is the clutch, the brakes are here, shift the gears like this." Again, I was a quick study, and in a short while I could take off, shift, and brake. I was no longer confined by how far I could peddle, now it was how much gas I could buy. I became a 2 wheel junkie. I rode my little Honda all over 3 counties. Exploring and seeking out things unknown. In the fall of 1969 a TV show called "Then Came Bronson" hit the airwaves. It was the story of a man, a motorcycle and America. He answered to no one, he was the epitome of freedom. I watched it faithfully every Wednesday. He came and went as he pleased, no one told him anything, about what he should do, or where he could go. Only he could do that. He would spend his day riding, meeting new people, and if he found himself in someplace that sucked, he just rode out the next day. I went up the cc ladder, and the bigger the bike, the farther I pushed my horizons. In 1975 I finally made it out west. It would be my last cross country ride for a long time. I was in love, and knew when I returned home, I would settle down and have a family. For the next 25 years I raised my son, and did the family thing. I was content. In fact, I went several years with no bike in my garage. As my son grew older, my thoughts returned to the things I was yet to do. I was restless. I love my home, but I felt like I was missing something. I itched for another bike, and the chance to explore the country like I had dreamed about when I was young. A year after he left for college, the ST found its way in my garage. I told my wife I was satisfied with things. I had kept the faith, my son is grown, soon to be out of college, and off the payroll. When I was young, raising a family, I was motivated by 2 things. A paid up mortgage, and a retirement check. Now those things are close at hand. It is as good feeling, to know I will always have a roof over my head, and check coming in. The early retirement the fire department affords, is a great luxury, and one of the reasons I signed up. I always said I wanted to retire young, so I could enjoy life. I mean who wants to retire at 65?? What will you do? Rock your life away? No thanks. The above scenario all came about because of the feelings fostered by 2 wheels, and for the chance to ride the country. I have come full circle. When I married I gave the wife my car, and I rode. When my son came along, I broke down and bought a second car. Now, 24 years later, we are back to being a 1 car family. I sold my Prelude. Just didn't need it anymore. Instead of a car payment, I can spend more money on equipment and riding. I am free. I can ride when I want, where I want, and how I want. Just tell me the place and time you want me there. I have entered a new stage of life, it took me a long time to get here, so not going to waste it. See y'all on the roads. I always ride a few miles for the man in the
picture above, who was too busy taking care of us, to go to the places I now
take for granted
Update Dec. 2004
I lost my dad in a 1989 automobile accident.
He was a fine man of I am currently looking for a 1974 CB 750 to restore in his honor. He never had the opportunity or the means to ride his Honda to the far ends of the continent as I have, but I'd like one in my garage as a reminder to where it is I came from.
I've been blessed so much the last few years to do the
things many
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